


The Redemption of Night Vale

by queer_khaleesi



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Feels, Gen, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_khaleesi/pseuds/queer_khaleesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night Vale is in shambles, Desert Bluffs is trapped in the Company Picnic, and StrexCorp has never been more powerful than before. With Cecil imprisoned, Carlos on the run, and Kevin stuck in the Company Picnic, it seems impossible for anyone to overtake SterxCorp. Separately, they each start their own acts of insurgency, until eventually they come up with their own ways to save both Night Vale and Desert Bluffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Remains of Night Vale

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers of major plot points from episodes "Parade Day" and "Company Picnic"

“Everything that has ever existed has also never existed. And those that have yet to exist both already have and never will. Welcome to Night Vale.” Cecil began to hum the Night Vale Community Radio jingle whilst tapping his fingers along the damp, concrete wall. There was a grand, metallic _clang_ , and a small burst of air cut through the narrow gaps in the bars and ruffled his hair. His forehead was slick with sweat, and some rivulets dripped onto the bridge of his nose. His glasses eventually slipped off, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care to notice.

“Good evening, Night Vale,” he said when he finished humming. “Normally, this is the time of day when I broadcast to you live over the radio, but I am afraid that is impossible as I have been . . . temporarily inconvenienced. I realize this probably seems silly, now, speaking to you who are not here, you who are currently unable to hear the sounds coming from my mouth in the bizarre form of information, you who--”

“God, I knew you were gonna go crazy, but I didn’t think it would be _this_ soon!”

Cecil let out a huff and crossed to his bars. “I’m sorry, was I _disturbing_ you?”

“Of course you were!” said Tamika Flynn. She sat on the floor of her cell across from Cecil. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit with large, gaping holes in both knees and elbows. Her frizzy black curls fell over most of her face, but left enough visible so her glare in Cecil’s direction was still pertinent.

“Hm.” Cecil pursed his lips. “It must be awfully inconvenient for some to disturb you when you’ve done nothing. _Especially_ when you end up getting thrown in jail for that someone’s stupid behavior!”

“It wasn’t stupid, it--”

“I don’t care! You made a huge mistake, and you hurt a lot of people.” He stared at the ground below. “I know StrexCorp is evil,” he murmured. “But what you did was reckless, Tamika. It wasn’t brave, it was stupid.” He crossed back to his stony cot. Literally. It was a stone.

“Sorry about that, listeners,” he said, looking to the green, mossy sink. “Technical difficulties, thanks to Intern Tamika.”

Tamika audibly scoffed.

“Anyway, as I’m sure you all know, StrexCorp has now taken over Night Vale.” He tried in vain to keep his voice in a faux jovial timbre, but all he succeeded in doing was causing Tamika to throw something at his head, which turned out to be her toothbrush. “I, for one,” he continued, “am deeply, deeply, _deeply_ . . . in love with--” He cut off with a sigh. “Okay, listeners. I’m going to be straight with you--StrexCorp is a malicious, evil, horrid company. They are definitely siding with Desert Bluffs. I fear for Night Vale. I fear for our city. I fear for Carlos.” He gasped. “Carlos . . . ,” he whimpered. “I had almost forgot about him. Oh, I hope he’s okay. I know Lauren has it out for him. She kept fawning over him. What if she hurts him?” He gasped again. “Or worse--what if she steals him from me? What if he falls in love with her? Oh, snap out of it, Cecil. Carlos will never abandon you; he told you the other night, and quite frequently, too. Oh, Carlos . . .” His fingertips brushed his clavicle, skimming over the moving tattoo he had gotten of Carlos smiling and his hair blowing.

\--

Carlos had never gotten a tattoo. He’d considered it before moving to Night Vale, but decided against it. He had then thought he ought to get one in Night Vale, a symbol of everything he had learned and experienced. He had never gotten the time.

The sand under his feet was unusually cool today. The small particles shifted in between his toes with every step. He had lost his shoes when fleeing from StrexCorp. His colleagues had been arrested--some of them had died. When he had been fleeing, his first instinct had been to run straight to Night Vale Community Radio, to Cecil. He had arrived to find the entire building forsaken.

Now, he wasn’t sure where he was going. He had no idea where Cecil was; he knew finding him was a priority. He had tried asking Old Woman Josie, Megan Wallaby, and John Peters, you know, the farmer?, but they didn’t know where Cecil was. They had then began screaming at the top of their lungs, screaming for StrexCorp, screaming about a Smiling God, screaming about needing to get back to work. Carlos had then left and called Cecil’s sister, but instead got Steve Carlsberg, and he knew he wouldn’t be helpful in the least.

Cecil had disappeared. And there was nothing Carlos wanted more than to find him.

Living in Night Vale, you learned that weird things happened daily, and you just had to get used to it. There was a dog park where dogs weren’t allowed, murderous librarians, and bizarre songs as the weather. Mysterious disappearances? Those were seemingly normal. But Carlos knew Cecil was still out there and still alive. If Dana could survive the dog park, Cecil could survive this. Whatever _this_ was.

Carlos saw the glow cloud in the distance. Its colors pulsed slowly, almost mournfully. It flashed between red and green and yellow and . . . Carlos didn’t know what that color was--it looked like a mix between blue and orange. A massive blue whale fell from cloud while it was still that strange color. The whale crashed to the sand below and let out a harsh, whalish cry. Carlos was terrified; this animal corpse was not a corpse at all, but a living, breathing mammal.

“Oh, the humanity,” he muttered. This was worse than he thought. But what did it _mean_? He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and tried to ignore the crying animal. This proved nearly impossible when he found he had to maneuver around the whale if he were to continue. He’d rather not discuss how he managed to avoid the whale, but all I will say is that he never wanted to go to SeaWorld again.

Now, not only did he now know where he was going, but he had no idea where he _was_. In the distance, he squinted and saw the vague shape of a small desert town. Night Vale. It had to be! But . . . wasn’t he just in Night Vale?

He shook his head. _It’s Night Vale,_ he told himself. _Weird stuff happens._ He ran to the town, hoping-- _praying_ \--that he would arrive in a version of Night Vale to where StrexCorp had never come.

If he’d have glanced at the sign he passed as he ran into town, he’d have been sorely disappointed. If he’d have looked at the sign, he never would have gone into the town. If he’d have looked at the sign, he’d have seen four words he never thought he would have ever seen: WELCOME TO DESERT BLUFFS.


	2. Desert Bluffs

“Hi, Kev!” Kevin smiled and looked up, squinting in the harsh desert sun. Lauren came over to him bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m so excited for today’s broadcast, Kev. I mean, so excited.”

“Oh, stop it, Lauren,” he said with a laugh. “You’re too kind.”

“No, _you’re_ too kind.” She bent her head back and let out a laugh. “But seriously, we’re gonna need to start the show. We need to be productive, don’t we?”

“Of course, Lauren. Of course.” He cleared his throat and picked up his microphone. He set it on the picnic blanket upon which he was sitting. He leaned in closely. “The stars above have promised us greatness, and we have received StrexCorp. StrexCorp--where people are gay.”

“And by gay, we mean happy!” Lauren cut it.

Kevin did his best to ignore her, and he continued, “Welcome to the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area.” He pressed a button on the soundboard before him, and the Desert Bluffs Community Radio jingle began to play.

It was day . . . dang, what day was it? Kevin had stopped counting after two weeks, and it hadn’t been long since then. Probably day . . . fifteen? Sixteen? One of those. The point is, the Company Picnic had been going on for days. Kevin was excited at first. He originally couldn’t wait for the picnic and nothing could make him happier than living at the picnic. But the picnic was actually not as fun as had originally thought. Every day, they had to wake up exactly before the sun rose, for it was then that every citizen in the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area worshiped the Smiling God. Now, don’t get him wrong, he loved the Smiling God, but it seemed as though the Smiling God hadn’t really been doing much except giving everyone more work. Which was fun, yes, but . . . couldn’t they get a chance to do something else?

The jingle finally ended, and Kevin was about to continue with the show when Lauren said, “How is everyone enjoying the Company Picnic? Oh, don’t you just love it, I just love it! Everyone is being so goshdarn productive, and we’re getting so much work done.” She giggled. “Oh, Kevin, remember the other day when we thought there _wasn’t_ any work to be done, but the Smiling God blessed us with _more_ work? Oh, gosh, that was both the worst and best day of my life.”

“I agree,” replied Kevin. “I completely agree. I cannot _tell_ you how absolutely worried I was! But, of course, the Smiling God gave us more work. He always gives us what we need. Anyway, I am proud to report that everyone is working at maximum productivity today. And everyone looks so happy today. Just look at all their faces, twisted up into those tight, tight smiles. Oh, would you look at that? They’re so happy, they’re crying!” He sniffed. “Oh, gosh darnit; I think I’m gonna start crying too!”

Lauren grinned fully. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. . . . Well, I’m going to have to get back to work.”

“Oh, so soon?” He pouted. “I don’t wanna lose my best buddy.”

She nodded solemnly and grabbed Kevin’s shoulder. “We all have our jobs, don’t we, Kev? Don’t worry--I’ll see you here later. Right?”

“Right. I’ll see you later, Lauren.” She smiled and rose to her feet, leaving Kevin alone again.

“Oh, that girl is just so positive. I just love her, don’t you just love her? Folks, I would like to announce that the election for mayor is even closer than ever. The voting will take place, of course, at the Company Picnic. Everyone is required to vote. Everyone. _Everyone_. I know, I know, you don’t want to stop being so goshdarn productive, but it is important to all the citizens of the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area to vote for the mayor. I’m voting, of course. Now, I can’t tell you who. But I cannot be the only one who votes, can I? Do the right thing for your community, and vote. Remember our slogan: ‘Vote for mayor, or die. Not because we’re going to kill you if you don’t vote, of course, but because not voting is now the leading cause of death in the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area, and that has nothing to do with murder. Oh, and vote for mayor, and get an extra three hours at the Company Picnic!’”

He stopped when he saw a flickering image of Intern Vanessa before his eyes. “Cecil?” she said. “Cecil! It’s you!”

“Vanessa? I thought-- What?”

“What? I’m not Vanessa. I’m Dana. Or Dana’s double, I’m not sure. But, I guess-- I mean, I guess Dana’s double’s name is Vanessa . . . so, I’m either Vanessa or Vanessa’s double, who I guess is Dana. . . . Just, Vanessa, I guess.” She paused. “Wait, so would that make you . . . Cecil’s double?”

“Er, um . . . I’m Kevin. Vanessa, you know this.”

“Right, sure.” She waved her hands around to dismiss the thought.

“Wait, but how can you be here?” Kevin asked. “You got trapped in the--”

“The dog park, yes, I know,” she interrupted at the same time Kevin said, “The skate park.”

“What?” asked Vanessa. “What skate park? It was-- Oh, God. Kevin, there are two different story lines in my head. They’re both eerily similar, yet so traumatizingly different. I know one of them’s wrong, it burns like a white flame screaming, ‘ _Wrong wrong wrong_ ’, but I can’t tell which one it is, and it’s driving me insane! Just, Kevin, where are we? Please, I know the only main differences between the two story lines is where we-- _I_ \--am when these events occur. Where are we?”

“Vanessa, we’re at the Company Picnic in the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area.”

Vanessa sighed happily. “Oh, Desert Bluffs. Okay, okay, I’ve got it.” Her image wavered harshly, almost deleting her completely from the air. “Oh, shit. Kevin, I’ve only got so much time. Remember a little over a year ago? That huge sandstorm? And--and everyone’s doubles?”

“Who could forget?” Kevin looked over his shoulder. He didn’t like where this was headed, and he couldn’t risk Vanessa saying something that would get both her and him in huge trouble with StrexCorp. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Ever since I ended up killing my double--or she killed me, I have no idea--things have been going really, really weird. Obviously, I got stuck in the dog--the skate park--but I see now that everything is so wrong. But, Kevin, the sandstorm was caused by StrexCorp, and all it caused was hell. Pure hell. Kevin, I think StrexCorp is evil!”

Kevin recoiled as though he had been slapped. “Oh, Vanessa. Honestly, I am quite disturbed. Do you know how ridiculous you sound? StrexCorp is abso-tively, poso-lutely wonderful. Don’t be silly, Vanessa.”

“Kevin, would you listen to me, I--”

“What’s going on here?” Lauren asked, interrupting. Kevin jumped a little; he hadn’t noticed her coming over.

“Oh, I think Intern Vanessa here’s just telling a little joke,” he said.

“Cecil--Kevin--whoever the hell you are, listen to me!” She stamped her feet. “It’s not a joke.”

“Oh . . .” Lauren tsked softly. “Looks like someone’s being a Negative Nellie.” She looked at Kevin. “I think maybe Vanessa needs a little time-out.”

“Oh, I agree.” Kevin looked at Vanessa. “I think it best if maybe you just take a little breather.”

“No, wait, I--” She disappeared. Just like that.

“Okay, Kev, back to work,” said Lauren.  
“Of course, Laurie,” he replied, giving her a little salute. “Can I call you Laurie?”

She chuckled, her laugh a little like chiming bells. “No!” She laughed again and turned away. Kevin squinted at her and saw that she had also disappeared. He swore for a second--just a second--that she had gone through a blinking white vortex.


	3. Community Radio

“When all you can see is white nothingness, and your eyes burn with tears and the need for more visual cues, but all there is is the empty, white pit, you know, you know that now is your time. Not any sooner or later, but now. This has been traffic.” Cecil stood up and stretched his back, groaning. He was incredibly sore, and every bone ached. He hadn’t left his cell since parade day, and that was . . . he didn’t know how long it had been since parade day, but he knew it was more than just one day. Tamika, however, had left a couple times, but always came back just minutes later. She was gone now, actually. Cecil envied her; God, did he want to get out, to move. The ceiling was just barely higher than his head, and he only had about enough room to lie down if he did so diagonally.

He didn’t have a window in his cell. He hadn’t seen the outside in what felt like forever. He missed the desert sand. He missed the scorching heat. He missed everything about Night Vale. He wondered how they were doing now. Surely they couldn’t be doing much worse than he. Of course, thinking about Night Vale reminded him of Carlos. Where _was_ he? Once, when Lauren was bringing some scientists into the prison, he had heard her saying something about how that scientist with the perfect hair still hadn’t been found. That had given Cecil a glimmer of hope, but each passing day diminished his hope.

“Get your hands off me, you bitch!” Tamika. Cecil slowly sank down onto his stone of a cot and lay down. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He could tell from Tamika’s disembodied voice that this time had been different than the other times she had been forcibly removed from her cell.

He heard a quick staccato of steps, steps he assumed to belong to Tamika. But he heard another pair of steps, heavier, louder than Tamika’s. He then heard the voice belonging to that pair: “I think it best if you don’t struggle, Miss Flynn.” Lauren. He was sure of it. But what was she doing here?

“Don’t you ‘Miss Flynn’ me! Do you know who I am? I’m Tamika Flynn! You can’t take me, I’m not the bad one here!”

“If you’re speaking of me or StrexCorp, I am afraid you’re sorely mistaken. We only want what’s best for everyone. Come, now.” Cecil heard them pass by his cell. He heard Tamkia’s bar door swing open. He heard a _thud_ , and then the door closed again. There was a scramble and a _clang_.

“I don’t know what the hell you want, but you won’t get away with it,” said Tamika.

“We’re not trying to get away with anything. We only want what’s best.” A few clinks sounded, and Cecil felt a presence near his body. “Wakey wakey, Cecil.” Lauren’s fingertips tapped on Cecil’s body, and he shivered, loathing every touch. “Come on, Cecil, wake up. I just wanna talk a little bit.” He didn’t move. He scarcely breathed. “Oh, Cecil. Don’t you want to see that scientist boyfriend of yours?”

Cecil’s eyes snapped open to find Lauren standing inches from his face. “That’s a good boy,” she said condescendingly. “Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed his hands. She curled them upward and examined them. He had tattoos there, too. Tattoos of large, cartoonish, purple eyes, like the one on his forehead. They moved like the tattoo of Carlos; they blinked in sync with his real eyes, but they couldn’t see. “Come on, Cecil, stand up.”

He did as he was told without saying a word. Lauren led the way out of his cell and down the hallway. Cecil made eye contact with Tamika. He was terrified; her left eye was swollen shut, she had blood on the side of her head, and it looked like her hand was broken, yet she made an obvious effort not to show pain. Her lips moved, and Cecil squinted to try to see what she was trying to say. It almost looked like her lips were shaping the word, _Help_.

He looked straightforward, following Lauren. He was surprised to see that she didn’t have any guards with her. He thought it would be easy to overpower her and run away (after saving Tamika, of course), but he knew that this had to be a trick. Lauren was crazy, but she wasn’t stupid; if he tried anything, he would find himself in the same situation as Tamika--or worse, Dana.

Lauren led him into a room that looked just like the Night Vale Community Radio studio. Everything was there: his desk, his microphone, his soundboard, his photos of him and Carlos, all in the exact spots they had been in the studio. But there was one glaring difference between this mock studio and the real studio: it was colder in here. Noticeably colder. The radio studio he was used to had very poor air conditioning, and the studio was always just as hot as the desert it resided in. But here? It wasn’t just chilly, or even cold, really. It was empty, void of all real life and substance and, therefore, heat. It was the most terrifying sensation; it was almost as though his own soul had frozen solid, and it hurt and burned and was soothing all at the same time.

“Here,” Lauren said, handing Cecil a neatly pressed stack of clothes. _His_ clothes: a crisp, white dress shirt, a pair of slacks, a purple tie, and a pair of black dress shoes. They smelt industrial, like metal and petroleum. He tentatively took them without saying a word. "Well . . . ," Lauren prompted. "Get dressed."

"Um--," began Cecil.

"Don't worry, I won't look." She grinned and spun around, her back to Cecil. He frowned at the clothes in his hands. They reminded him of home, despite their odd smell, and the nostalgic side of him longed for him to slip comfortably into those clothes, sit at the microphone, and report to actual listeners. But he doubted this was what Lauren wanted. She wasn't one to reward Cecil for his insurgency, especially after incarcerating him for who knew how long.

He did as he was told, removing the dirty, ripped clothes from his body and putting on the fresh ones.

Lauren peeked over her shoulder and gave Cecil a full, toothy smile. “Wonderful!” she cried, clapping her hands together. She gestured to the swivel chair in front of the microphone. “Take a seat.”

Cecil stared at the seat for seemingly endless moments before finally sitting down. The clothes Lauren had given him felt stiff and awkward; yes, they were his size, but they almost felt like wet cardboard, despite feeling like fabric and polyester to the touch. The seat was no better, but it was nice to feel something soft after so many days (weeks?) in his concrete cell on his stony cot.

“Read this.” Lauren handed him some notes. Notes for . . . Night Vale Community Radio? Was he going to have a broadcast today?

"I, uh," he said, dumbstruck. "I lost my gla--" Lauren wordlessly handed him a pair of glasses. He pulled them on and was relieved to discover that he could now read the notes. He looked them over; yes, everything was in order. He was going to have a broadcast today. It had been so long. . . . So long since he had spoken into a microphone instead of to himself. So long since he could actually hear the jingle and the background music instead of simply humming it. So long since he could do what he loved, what kept him alive. He looked at the notes. They were pages long, much longer than any of the notes he had used for previous broadcasts, but they were substance. He didn’t know if he could deliver these words with the passion with which he delivered has own reports. But he knew he must.

He pulled his headphones over his ears and flipped the microphone on. “‘Everything is exactly as it seems,’” he read. “‘Everything is light and joy and freedom and . . . conformity?’” He must have read that wrong, but Lauren didn’t say anything, so he continued. “‘Welcome to Night Vale.’” The jingle played. Oh, how it felt to _hear_ the jingle. It was better than he had imagined; each note sent shivers down his spine, and he thought of everything he missed about Night Vale.

“‘Good evening, Night Vale,’” he continued. “‘I know, it has been a while since you have heard from me, but there is a reason for that. The reason, of course, I cannot disclose. I know there are a few of you still out there, some of you who are not in Desert Bluffs and not partaking in the Company Picnic.’” Night Vale residents in Desert Bluffs? Company Picnic? What was he reading? What had happened since his arrest? “‘So, why don’t you mosey’”--( _“Mosey?”_ he thought, wondering who in his right mind had wrote this)--“‘on down to that Company Picnic? You’re missing a lot. . . . Don’t believe me? Well, you should. I have no reason to lie to you. Besides, of course, the fact that I am currently being vague and potentially deceptive, but who isn’t like that? Deception is our best friend. The truth? Well, it’s a love/hate relationship.

“‘Now, this is where I must get serious, listeners.’” He paused and read ahead a few sentences. “Oh, God,” he breathed. He looked to Lauren. “I won’t read this,” he said.

She laughed nervously. “Uh, Cecil? You’re still on air,” she whispered.

“I don’t care. Night Vale has a right to know the truth. Night Vale, don’t--”

“--listen to Cecil!” Lauren cut in. “I mean, listen to him, obviously. But not right now. He’s a little delirious, didn’t get enough sleep last night. But, I’m sure if he just read his notes, he’d be very serious and very trustworthy.”

“You can’t make me read, this Lauren.”

“If you _don’t_ read it, it will be a lot worse than you think.”

Cecil narrowed his eyes--both his real eyes and his tattooed eyes--at her. “What do you mean by ‘worse’?”

Lauren grinned wickedly and rolled her neck. “Oh-so-very worse, Cecil. Let’s just say . . . all _science_ can have negative--and sometimes _deadly_ \--results.”

\--

Carlos was beginning to think the results of his experiment with the house that didn’t exist were not only incomplete, but completely wrong. He thought back to that day: the parade had been occurring, StrexCorp had come and gone after him and the scientists, the scientists had been captured while he had escaped, he had gone through the outskirts of town, and he had arrived in the middle of a vast desert. He had had no food or water, but many resources had appeared before him. They had been choppy, almost as though they had been partially there and partially not, but they had been enough to keep him alive however long he had been there. Every day (though it was hard to distinguish if there even _were_ days, as he never got tired, he never slept, nor did the sun ever set), it seemed as though he had been getting more and more lost.

Until, of course, today, when he stumbled back upon the town of Night Vale.

When he entered the town, he was surprised by two things: one, the color scheme was completely opposite--everything that had been purple was now, actually, yellow--and, two, everything was in the opposite spot--everything that had been on the right side was now on the left and vice versa. He imagined he was seeing things. Maybe a side effect from the house that didn’t exist.

Or maybe it was more of that glow cloud business. Whatever had been happening to the glow cloud _had_ to be related to the strangeness happening in town.

He shook his head and looked for his apartment building. He began to follow the familiar route he knew by heart, but he realized when he was about halfway there that the entire town was backwards, and he would have to make adjustments. So, he did, but it still took him an hour to get up to his condo. When he got there, he turned on the radio--he was briefly distracted by the most, sticky texture it currently had--and adjusted the dial to Night Vale Community Radio. Cecil should have been on by now. “You--eave--alone!” came Cecil’s staticky voice. Carlos hit the side of the radio a couple times with the back of his hand (he was a scientific genius after all), and twisted the dial to focus on the station.

“Do as I say,” came Lauren’s voice, “and you have nothing to worry.”

Cecil groaned. “Fine. There is a major, _major_ manhunt for a certain scientist. He’s, uh . . . He’s my boyfriend. The scientist with the perfect hair. I don’t know his-- Oh, for God’s sake, Lauren, learn his name. It’s _Carlos_.” There was a pause. “Carlos was last seen fleeing from the sight of the house that doesn’t exist. Carlos, if you’re listening now, I need you to turn yourself in to the Sheriff’s Secret Police. You have twenty-four hours.”

“Go ahead, Cecil,” Lauren said. “Tell him what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“I . . . I don’t want to. Lauren, stop it. This has gone to far.”  
“I’ll tell you when it’s gone too far, Cecil Palmer. Now, tell him!”

“Carlos”--his voice broke and became faint, and Carlos’ heart broke for him--“if you don’t turn yourself in . . . they’re going to come after you themselves. And . . . they will use whatever means necessary to find you. And, if for some bizarre reason they don’t . . . Oh, there’s nothing here but the word ‘yes’, which I’m sure has some significance, but it’s unclear here. I’m assuming they’re going to-- Lauren, put down that stapler. Lauren, stop it. No, Laur--!” There was a thump, and the signal went dead.

“Cecil!” Carlos dropped to his knees and examined the radio. It was still in perfect working order, but there was nothing but the faintest hum of static. “Cecil . . .”

Well, he knew what he had to do. He had to turn himself in.

Was he scared? That was like asking if mountains existed--normally, yes, but Night Vale had changed his perceptions, and now he wasn't too sure. He knew it was dangerous, but how many dangerous things had he gotten himself into in just the past year and a half? Besides, turning himself in would be better than having StrexCorp come after him. Or Cecil.

He rose to a standing position, and he finally got a clear look at his apartment. It took less than half a second for bile to rise into his throat. Blood. The entire apartment was coated in it. It had that metallic, warm scent blood had, and it was clearly fresh.

That wasn't even the worst.

Bones littered the floor. Eyeballs hung from the ceiling like Christmas ornaments, but these were neither ornaments, nor was this Christmas. Teeth were scattered in various piles around the apartment. These sights were enough to disgust him, and enough to bring tears to his eyes; someone must have been murdered here recently.

Imagine that. Murder in Carlos' own home. If he hadn't heard Cecil on the radio not even a minute earlier, he would have worried it had been him.

Cecil. Carlos had forgotten. He had to turn himself in to the Sheriff's Secret Police, or else . . .

There were a few slight problems, he realized as he left the building. The biggest one being that he had no idea where the Sheriff's Secret Police were, or even _who_ they were. That was pretty much the only secret they had. He had twenty-four hours, and Night Vale was a small town. It couldn't take long to find, could it?


	4. The Scientist Boyfriend

"Could anyone really find anything better than what we have now?" Kevin asked. "I know I've said it a million times, but we really could not be better off. We have our Smiling God, StrexCorp, our Company Picnic--and yet, it still is getting better! Listeners, I have been told that this Saturday is going to be the first of a new annual holiday called Strex Day of Smiles. I'm not sure yet what this will entail, but can you believe it? Oh, I'm getting goosebumps. No, wait, that's actually a minor flesh-eating virus. Well, it's sure to be gone by Saturday, and I doubt it's contagious. It actually kind of tickles. Maybe it's a flesh-loving virus. Oh, that's my favorite of all the flesh-related viruses. . . . Anyway, that's all for me, Kevin. Stay tuned next for more work and more of our blessed Smiling God. As always, until next time, Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area. Until next time."

He turned off his microphone and removed his headphones. What to do now? He could do whatever he wanted, but he had already tried everything the Company Picnic had to offer. Badminton? Check. Volleyball? Check. Kickball? He was the champion. Although, he was the champion of everything at the picnic; everyone else there had too much work to participate in the Picnic activities. Except, occasionally, Lauren, but she had been disappearing constantly. He found this strange, as no one was physically able to leave the Picnic, but he didn't dwell on it.

He wanted to enjoy the day with one of his fellow Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area residents. But who? Most of them were working tirelessly, while he sat contently, as was the norm every day since the Picnic had begun. Maybe he could see his boyfriend? Surely there wasn’t much science he could be doing right now, since he wasn’t allowed to leave the Picnic. Surely by now he had run out of things to do as well.

Kevin stood up and began to wander the Picnic aimlessly. He couldn’t find his boyfriend; the only people he saw had their noses buried in their work, and none of them looked even remotely like his boyfriend. Where on earth could he be? It wasn’t as though he had _left_ the Picnic. And if he had never come to the Picnic, surely Kevin would know by now.

He bit his lip and gazed around some more. Nope. Nothing. He was starting to feel sick. What if he _hadn’t_ come to the Picnic? It was mandatory, after all. Could something have happened to him? Kevin began to return to his station when--

There he was. Just outside Picnic boundaries. And he was running in, his lab coat flapping in the breeze. Kevin let out a breath. He _was_ okay. He _was_ here. He had never been more happy than he was at that moment.

Suddenly, his boyfriend stopped dead in his tracks. He peered curiously at Kevin, squinting at him as though he were examining one of his science experiments. Kevin giggled to himself; he had always looked so adorable when he did that. Oh, and his hair . . . It shone like obsidian rock in the sun and ruffled across his scalp. Smiling God, he was beautiful.

Kevin couldn’t contain himself anymore. He loved his boyfriend, and he missed him. He took off in a full-on sprint and embraced his boyfriend tightly so he could never get lost again. Never escape.

\--

Escape was the only thing on Cecil’s mind. That was impossible, though. Lauren was binding his hands behind his back with steel handcuffs.

“Your boyfriend really loves you, doesn’t he?” she asked as she tightened the bindings around his wrist.

“I would assume so,” Cecil replied. “If not, he certainly has a strange affinity for spending every waking moment with me, taking me on dates, performing experiments on trees with me-- Need I continue?”

Lauren scowled and stood up. “Well, I hope he does,” she told him. “For your sake, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, Cecil, I have no reason to trust you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

He scoffed quietly. “You like me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He didn’t respond. He watched Lauren amble around the mock studio, hands clasped behind her back. She examined some of the pictures on Cecil’s desk. He flinched as she touched them, feeling as though her very touch would cause the pictures--the _memories_ \--to wither away and die. Everything could easily wither away and die, but not in this way. Yet it seemed as though everything was unbelievably fragile nowadays. Nothing could stand long without falling over, toppling, being eaten by some metaphysical void. Everything withered. Everything was dying.

Just like Night Vale.

She picked up one of the pictures. Cecil craned his neck to see which one it was, and he sucked in an angry breath when he saw it. Lauren heard his breath and turned her head slightly in his direction. “A favorite of yours?” she asked.

A favorite of his? Of course it was. It was of him and Carlos, after Carlos had returned safely from the city underneath lane five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. Carlos had his arm wrapped around Cecil’s shoulders and was resting his head on him. Cecil was leaning his head on top of Carlos’ and smiling slightly at the camera. Cecil’s eyes were glistening; he had been trying so hard not to cry that night.

He didn’t owe Lauren an explanation. When he continued to be silent, Lauren replaced the picture. “Why can’t you see,” she asked, “that we only want what’s best for everyone?”

Cecil scoffed. “Why can’t _you_ see that we were fine without you?” he asked.

Lauren laughed. “That’s what Desert Bluffs said. They were so wrong. Poor, stupid Desert Bluffs. Poor, stupid _Night Vale_.”

Cecil had been fazed by what she had said about Desert Bluffs--( _Desert Bluffs?_ he thought. _StrexCorp got them_ too _? Not that I care about them, but really?_ )--but what she had said about Night Vale had crossed a line. “You think you know every--,” he began, but he cut himself short. It seemed as though she and StrexCorp couldn’t do anymore to him and Night Vale than they already had, but what did he know? He had to contain his anger, for the good of everyone.

Lauren _tsk_ ed softly, tapping her watch. “I don’t think you know your boyfriend as much as you think you do,” she told Cecil.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he informed her. “I doubt he’s that fast. Besides, what if he didn’t hear the broadcast? What if he’s not even in Night Vale?”

“Well, where else would he be?”

“Sorry, we haven’t arrived to the stalking part of our relationship yet.” (This seemed like sarcasm, but this was actually a thing in Night Vale. It was Night Vale, were you really expecting any different?) “Also, I haven’t seen him in a month. Have _you_?”

Cecil wasn’t really sure what happened next; all he knew was that Lauren’s eyes flashed toward him in anger, and they glowed bright yellow with two black spots and a small black curve in each eye.

\--

Carlos didn’t know what was happening; all he knew was that Cecil’s hands were around his throat. “Get--off!” he croaked as he gasped for air. He reached up and tried to remove Cecil’s hands, but they were in an airtight grip. Red spots dotted his vision, his whole body seized in desire for air.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Cecil cried, his voice echoing in Carlos’ eardrums. Finally, Cecil’s hands were gone. Carlos dropped to his knees and took in fast, harsh gulps of air.

“Wha--,” Carlos sputtered. “What the--?” He saw Cecil’s hand outstretched towards him. Typically, Carlos would trust that hand if not for three things: one, Cecil had just attacked him completely unprovoked; two, Cecil _couldn’t_ have attacked him because Carlos had just heard him on the radio not ten minutes ago, and the radio station was too far away for him to get here so fast; and, three, this was not Cecil, nor was it Cecil’s hand. The tattoos of eyes on this man’s hand were yellow, not purple, and his actual eyes were black as an endless void, too black to belong to Cecil. Too black to belong to anyone human. And not only that, but this man was covered in dried blood. It was all old, too, as he didn’t smell of blood, but it was blood nonetheless.

He picked himself up.

How could a man look so much like Cecil but not be him? How could--?

_Of course,_ he realized. _He’s . . . Cecil’s double._ How was this possible? There had been no sandstorm recently, government cover-up or not. There had to be an explanation.

“How are you enjoying the Company Picnic?” asked Cecil’s double.

“Er . . .” Carlos was at a loss. What was he supposed to say? Clearly Cecil’s double thought Carlos was his own double, and Carlos didn’t know what his double would say. How much like him was his double? Were their doubles even boyfriends? He doubted it, seeing as Cecil’s double had just strangled him, but he did release him, and he did look happy to see him. Carlos was utterly confounded (not that he wasn’t used to confusion after living in Night Vale so long, but this was even worse than anything he had experienced this past year and a half).

“It’s . . . ,” he said, unable to think of anything. He assumed a company picnic wouldn’t be the most fun thing in the world, but it wouldn’t be horrible either.

Amazingly, Cecil’s double began nodding. “I know, right? It’s so great, it leaves us all speechless. Whether our tongues fell out or not!” He sighed and held a smile. Carlos stared at Cecil’s double curiously; he hadn’t stopped smiling since he got there. Neither had anyone else, really. He was really starting to get concerned, especially since it looked like no one was doing anything smile-worthy; they were all working. Furiously. That was another thing: who worked at a company picnic?

“Do you have time for a game of singles’ tennis or something?” Cecil’s double asked.

Singles’ tennis? This was getting too bizarre. Besides, Carlos didn’t have time to play trivial games with Cecil’s double; he needed to find the _original_ Cecil! What was he even doing here? He had been headed toward town square, hoping to find a map or someone who could give him directions to the Sheriff's Secret Police. Instead, he had stumbled upon what appeared to be the entire population of Night Vale gathered together. That certainly explained why the town was so deserted, but he didn’t dwell on it because he had to focus. But now? Now he just wanted to know what the hell he had missed.

“I, uh . . . ,” Carlos stammered. “I, uh, don’t think I do. S-sorry.” He shoved his hands in his lab coat and shook his head.

“Oh, darn it,” Cecil’s double said. “Well, I guess I’ll see you some other time.” He reached his hand out towards Carlos, grabbed Carlos’ hand, pulled him forward, and kissed him. Well . . . not a kiss _per se_. It consisted entirely of violent grips--some of which broke Carlos’ skin--and hair pulling--no, hair _yanking_. As in, literal yanking of the hair right out of the roots. (Not all of it, don’t worry, but enough to hurt like hell.) When he finally pulled away and left, Carlos stood frozen and in pain for a few good moments before regaining clarity.

Okay. Well. Now he _really_ needed to find the Sheriff’s Secret Police; no more distractions. Every minute he wasted was a minute that could have gone into saving Cecil, and he could never live with himself if something happened to him. He looked around furiously, finding nothing that could help him. He ran through the picnic, avoiding anyone who clearly couldn’t help him--that ended up being everyone.

He was concerned. He was beginning to think this wasn’t Night Vale. Cecil’s double, the horrific sight of his apartment, the color scheme--everything pointed to the conclusion that this was not some simple Night Vale oddity; this was not Night Vale. But where was he, then?

If this wasn’t Night Vale, then he wouldn’t find the Sheriff’s Secret Police here. He needed to get out of here as fast as he could and get back to Night Vale. He doubted he would be able to follow his steps back to the town, especially since the desert through which he had travelled to get here was vast enough to keep him lost for weeks. He had less than twenty-four hours to get to Cecil. How was he supposed to do that?


	5. The Strex Effect

How was Lauren supposed to do this?

She had Cecil, but Carlos wasn’t here yet. He was supposed to be here by now. Everything was being manipulated perfectly. Everything was going to plan. She shouldn’t have even _needed_ to resort to using Cecil as bait. This was Cecil’s fault. All his fault.

No. This was Tamika’s fault.

_No._ This was Night Vale’s fault.

_Calm down, Lauren,_ she told herself. _Just . . . breathe._

She looked at Cecil. He had fear in his eyes, which she expected, but not like this. She closed her eyes gently for a few seconds before reopening them. “I have not seen him,” she said calmly. “That doesn’t mean anything, though. People disappear all the time.” _They don’t always come_ back _, though._

“I know,” Cecil said. He looked down morosely. Lauren tried desperately not to feel any form of pity for Cecil. He was collateral damage. He was worthless. He would serve his purpose and that would be the end of it. She only needed one thing out of him: his boyfriend.

\--

Kevin’s boyfriend seemed to look different. Kevin noticed it when he was up close; he seemed entirely brighter. Almost as though the Smiling God was working through him. No, but his eyes were bright. Almost . . . white. And his body looked less red than normal. And drier. And his teeth were flatter, almost smaller. Bizarre.

Kevin wondered what Desert Bluffs had been like before StrexCorp. He could remember it--barely. Desert Bluffs had been very different; back then, everyone had been less happy than they were now, but it had almost been . . . better. He thought of this because of his boyfriend. His boyfriend had always been different from other Desert Bluffs residents. Of course, he had moved here only a year and a half ago, but still. The differences were almost overwhelming.

Back to Desert Bluffs pre-StrexCorp--why had they let StrexCorp become as influential as they had. Not that Kevin was complaining, he wasn’t, but he wondered. They had been perfectly fine, and he doubted they had needed a corporation like Strex to enter their lives.

He thought about Night Vale. Funny, he thought, to think about a town that barely existed anymore. They had always seemed perfectly fine as well. They certainly had avoided StrexCorp for a while, and StrexCorp hadn’t been as efficient in improving Night Vale as they had Desert Bluffs. When Strex _had_ come to Desert Bluffs, had there been insurgents, like Tamika?

Maybe Night Vale had had it right; maybe they didn’t need StrexCorp. Maybe StrexCorp was doing more harm than good. Maybe--

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

_It was wrong to think these things._

_It was wrong to think these things._

_StrexCorp--where they were always there to help._

_StrexCorp--where people were gay._

_StrexCorp--where the Smiling God smiled upon conformists._

_StrexCorp._

_StrexCorp._

StrexCorp.

Kevin probably had something to go do. He blankly left his spot.


	6. Plans of Escape

Cecil stared blankly at Lauren. Her back was turned to him, and she seemed very distracted by some meaningless baubles on his mock desk. He had been surprised just moments ago--both by Lauren’s strange quasi-outburst and by her calm demeanor. He knew she was using him; he knew she wanted Carlos.

Too bad for her, she wasn’t going to get him.

As if Carlos would even _want_ her. He had obviously chosen Cecil in the first place. Sure, people could change their minds, but Cecil thought Carlos had made it perfectly clear that _Cecil_ , and Cecil _only_ , was the one that he wanted (in more ways than one, if you know what I mean). But not only that; Lauren was also a psychopath. Never mind the whole kidnapping Cecil thing and wiping out Night Vale--she was also completely _stalking_ Carlos. She had the other scientists so if, for some reason, she wanted information on the house that didn’t exist or any other experiments, she could have easily interrogated one of them by now. No, she wanted Carlos for herself, for bizarre, twisted reasons that Cecil couldn’t fathom.

Well, he could fathom them a little. Carlos was a little bit amazing.

But that was besides the point.

Now, Cecil frequently experienced typical, habitual days, most of which occurred during the duration of one radio broadcast. First off, he would report the news. There would be one thing that would stand out during the news. It would be strange, yes, but he would overlook it typically. Although, this one thing would constantly pop up more and more, becoming stranger, more pertinent, almost impossible to ignore. Then, bad things would happen. Disappearances, attacks, deaths, take your pick. Point is, whatever strange thing it was would cause devastation among Night Vale. Finally, it would become almost completely all-powerful, and it would seem all hope was lost.

And then, the weather.

Cecil would return after the weather, recap the events that occurred during the break, and everything would be completely under control. And then, the next day.

Every since parade day, though, that had not happened. It seemed, however, that at that point, the strange thing--StrexCorp’s takeover of Night Vale, et cetera, et cetera--was still building, still getting close to the climax. If this were a broadcast, maybe Cecil had just finished traffic or a word from the sponsors. He would be getting dangerously close to the weather. This gave Cecil a little bit of hope; he was close. He was close to the climax, close to defeating the strange thing, close to happiness. He had hope.

But hope was not a physical thing. It was an idea, and ideas, while great in theory, were not something upon which help could be guaranteed.

If he wanted to defeat StrexCorp, free himself and Tamika, and be reunited with (a hopefully unharmed) Carlos, he had to do so himself.

First off, loosening his binds.

Lauren was impatient. She was always checking behind her shoulder, getting distracted by small things, collapsing onto her knees and chanting things to an invisible god. _Desert Bluffs’ god,_ Cecil thought bitterly. Anyway, she got distracted easily. Cecil could easily find a time when she would be excessively distracted for him to try to escape. Of course, he didn’t have any blood stone circles in this mock office; StrexCorp had banned them-- _God, are they a nuisance or_ what _?_ \--and even if they hadn’t, he doubted Lauren would allow such easy access to them in a room that was supposed to be a cell.

What else could he use . . . ? It was times like this that he wished he could be everywhere at once and never be seen--

Of course. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?

“Are you there?” he whispered. Lauren’s head twitched slightly, but Cecil didn’t think she heard him.

“Of course I am,” came the hushed reply. Cecil sighed in relief. “I’m always here, Cecil.”

What a relief.

\--

Carlos was relieved that no one here seemed to notice that he wasn’t working like they were. Scientifically speaking, so many people working at the same time in the same place was not highly probable. It was probable, of course, but not highly. And despite the frequent occurrences of not-very-highly probable things in Night Vale, this was almost too improbable.

Also, it took him an hour of circling the perimeter of the area to discover that he could not leave. Literally. He had tried leaving, but he was physically unable to, due to the enormous electric fence surrounding him and everyone else at the picnic. Yet, he had somehow managed to get inside the picnic without being hurt or killed by the electric fence. That probably wasn’t very probable either.

Anyway.

So, he couldn’t leave. He was mad. Why was he mad? Because he was confused. Carlos would never admit this to anyone, but since no one could ever figure this out anyway (*author smirks knowingly at the readers because she’s a badass who likes to break the fourth wall too much for her own good*), there was no harm in admitting to himself that he often got confused. Science was a confusing . . . well, science. You could never have a full, complete, accurate idea of what the universe actually was and consisted of. But Carlos had gotten pretty damn close to doing so. And then, Night Vale.

He meant what he had said his first day in Night Vale: it was the most scientifically fascinating country in all of the United States. That was an irrefutable fact. It was scientifically fascinating in all the ways it would anger any average scientist, as well as him: it defied science. Sure, gravity worked most of the time, unless it was Wednesday, and don’t even get him _started_ on Wednesdays, and the glow cloud, and Khoshekh, and--

It was all overwhelming.

Surely there had to be _something_ he had learned or experienced since his arrival in Night Vale that would help him escape this . . . Company Picnic.

How did he science? He often poked things until they did something. Sometimes he held machines that went _ding_ up to them until the _ding_ s made logical sense. There was no sense here. Not any sense.

He considered every possible explanation; or, rather, he began to, but he soon realized that considering every possible explanation would be frivolous, a waste of time, and, frankly, stupid. He did not have _time_. The sun was going down, and he needed--

The sun was going down. Oh. Shit.

It had been so long since he’d seen the sun go down. That neverending day in the vast desert between Night Vale and wherever he was now had almost erased the memory of the sunset from his mind. It was beautiful. He had forgotten about the colors, he had forgotten about the reverse _Lion King_ -esque beauty of it. He had forgotten about the static of white noise that filled his eardrums at the very sight of it. He had forgotten about the swelling of his body that came with the sunset. The sun finally sank, and all these feelings left his body.

_Wasting time again?_ he scolded himself. _What the hell? Cecil could be_ dead _by now._ Dead _! Pull your act together, and get the hell out of here!_

Carlos averted his eyes from where the sunset had just occurred. He had to stop procrastinating. But maybe . . . just maybe . . . the only reason he had been procrastinating . . . was because he truly couldn’t do it.

He truly couldn’t save Cecil.

\--

Tamika didn’t have time to wait for someone to save her; she was going to save herself.

Like she had even had any help during the Summer Reading Program. All those kids had flocked to her like choir boys to Chief Jack from  _Lord of the Flies_. If it hadn’t been for her, they would all have died, probably several times over. She had stopped the librarians. She was going to stop StrexCorp.

Her hand was still broken. She wasn’t sure why she had been expecting it to heal in less than an hour; God, maybe she was going crazy, too. Never mind that. She slowly tried flexing her fingers. Every tiny, subtle movement, every involuntary twitch sent spikes of pain through her hand, pain through her body. She clamped down on her teeth to keep from crying out. She didn’t need medical attention, she told herself. She groaned silently and reached her arm out. She grabbed one of the bars to her cell and squeezed.

The first few minutes were . . . excruciating, to say the least. Her broken bones punctured her flesh, and blood flowed out of her hand in rivulets. Her teeth came down on her bottom lip, and blood poured out of there, too. She finally had enough. She released her grip on the bar and pulled what was left of her hand back. She stared at it and took in harsh, shaky breaths. She didn’t remove her eyes from her hand as bit down on the sleeve of her jumpsuit and ripped it off. She then slowly lowered to her knees and painted the cell floor with her blood. She loosely wrapped the cloth over her broken hand when she was done.

She stood up and backed away slowly to admire her work. Any “sane” person would immediately look at the patterns and scream, running away and flailing his arms. She might have done so herself if it weren’t for the fact that she had endured much more pain and fear and overall hell in the past _year_ than any handful of “sane” people combined. She sat cross-legged in the center of her pattern. “Banned blood stone circles, eh?” she muttered to herself. She laughed softly. “Bitch, if it’s banned, I like it.”

She lay her hands upon the stone floor and closed her eyes. The chant that emitted from her lips had never been heard before; or, at least, not in the exact way she was chanting it. Much of it was taken from the ancient chants of Night Vale; phrases like, “ _Servatis a periculum_ ,” “All hail the glow cloud,” and, “But it wasn’t bloody when I got it!” The rest, however, were suited for her and her purpose: “I belong not here, but there. Away, far away. Get me the hell out of this hell, so help me. I am Tamika Flynn. I have defeated librarians, and I will defeat StrexCorp. Fuck yeah.”

Her body became ethereal, and she felt her legs slowly lift off the floor. She then crashed back onto the floor, sending more pain through all her limbs. “Are you fu--?” she began, but she stopped when she opened her eyes. She was in the hallway between her cell and Cecil’s. It had worked. She was out. Her hand was still broken, she was drained of her strength, and she had no idea what the hell her plan was.

But she was out.


	7. The Wheels in Motion

Kevin wondered if it would ever be possible to get out of the Company Picnic.

Not because he wanted to get out, of course. He loved the Picnic! But he was a little bit curious. They couldn’t stay there _forever_ . . . could they? It wouldn’t be _bad_ , per se, if they had to stay there forever. But it might get a little old. . . .

He wondered where Lauren had gone.

But why did he care? She never cared about him. She refused to listen to him when he told her didn’t like to be called Kev. She was always focused on _Strex_ and _Night Vale_. Like she was his friend. Like _Strex_ was his friend.

_It was wrong to be--_

No, fudge that. It was all manipulation. He knew this now. Maybe he’d always known it. . . . Why he finally realized it now, he didn’t know. His mind was free. His body, not so much. He could probably try a thousand times to revolt--or at least _stop working for one second_ \--but it would only end with slaughter. He didn’t want to admit it, seeing as this whole Strex-was-evil thing was still more or less new to him, but it was true: StrexCorp was evil.

Smiling God, did it feel good to finally admit it.

But no, he knew he couldn’t stop them. Night Vale, however . . .

They had tried. And they were close. Close to defeating Strex. If it weren’t for . . . well, Strex. And much of Desert Bluffs. He felt a little guilty admitting that. He had to get to Night Vale--or, what was left of it. Maybe their methods of insurgency were a little bit . . . odd, he supposed, but they had certainly made more progress in usurping StrexCorp than Desert Bluffs ever had; and Night Vale had been under Strex control for a _fraction_ of the time that Desert Bluffs had!

His boyfriend could help him. Kevin saw him now; he was examining the fence surrounding the Company Picnic right now. He headed in his direction, but when he saw him, he squinted and cocked his head. He still wasn’t used to his slightly altered appearance.

His too-bright eyes widened at the sight of Kevin. "Hey!" Kevin called, waving his arms in the air. "Come here!"

His boyfriend swallowed, and Kevin could have sworn he almost looked _nervous_. They became closer to one another, each one radiating with faint, translucent colors: yellows, purples, greens, whites--these colors normally couldn’t be seen during the day, but now that it was after dusk, they were as clear and visually stunning as anything. “You . . . called me?” said his boyfriend.

“Yes,” Kevin said, smiling. His boyfriend was smiling, too, but something about that smile . . . Maybe it was because his eyes didn’t look right, but that smile didn’t look genuine. And that hurt. “Tell me, is it _possible_ to leave the Company Picnic?”

“Uh . . .” He cocked his head in the direction of the electric fence surrounding everyone. “Scientifically speaking, it’s not _impossible_ , per se, but it is definitely improbable.”

 _Not impossible?_ Kevin thought. That certainly explained why Lauren wasn’t here. He had searched for her a few hours ago so they could perhaps do something together, but she had literally been nowhere inside the Picnic. _So she_ did _leave!_ “How . . . _could_ one leave the Picnic?” he asked.

His boyfriend shrugged. “I’d have to run some tests. It’d take a while. . . .” He shook his head.

Kevin perked up. “Maybe I can help?” He grinned even wider, showing his boyfriend all of his teeth.

His boyfriend gulped. “Uh . . . I could never say no to you . . . but . . . do you really understand science . . . ?”

Kevin frowned. (Almost frowned. Imagine someone with the biggest, possibly fake-est smile you’ve ever seen, and then the corner of their mouth started to just _barely_ twitch downwards. Yeah. That was what Kevin actually did.) “I guess I don’t,” he replied. “But . . . I really wanna help. And not just because I want to help _you_ , though that is a perk--I mean, sure you look different and kinda seem different and everything, but, you know, the Picnic. See, here’s the thing--” He leaned close-- _real_ close--and whispered, “I think StrexCorp is up to something . . . _evil_.”

\--

“StrexCorp is up to something,” the disembodied voice continued. “Of course, you probably already knew that.”

Cecil didn’t know where the voice was coming from, nor where to look, so he continued to stare straight ahead. He nodded, but just barely. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the ever so slight movement of a lamp. It moved probably only about half an inch to the left, but it was noticeable. Of course, he was paying extra close attention right now, so that might mean that Lauren couldn’t see the movement either.

She couldn’t.

“I . . . ,” Cecil began in a low whisper, “I need you to, you know . . . help me out here.”

“Of course I would,” said the Faceless Old Woman, “but . . . that’s not what fate has in mind. Fate is bizarre and strange. It seems unlikely that some quasi-invisible, faceless old woman like myself could know so much about fate, but it’s true. I exist in all places, I exist in all times. I know how everything relates to each other, how the events of the past wove together and led to this moment, how these current events will lead to the events in the future. And I can’t mess that up, Cecil. Yes, I can make small changes, but that’s only because they were probably minor inconsistencies in the space-time continuum. You must understand, Cecil, me not freeing you is not part of some sinister plot, I swear to you. It’s simply . . . what must be done.”

Cecil dropped his head forward in exasperation. _You’ve_ got _to be kidding me,_ he thought.

“Although . . . That key . . . I’m pointing to it now--oh, but you can’t see that, never mind . . . Anyway, that key on the desk near the soundboard, the one Lauren’s staring at right now?”

Cecil eyed the key almost immediately. He nodded again.

“Well . . . frankly, I do not like where that key is, and I think that it should be about ten feet closer to you and, well . . . and in your hands.”

The right corner of Cecil’s mouth quirked up. _Thank God._ He heard a small series of faint footsteps, followed by a very slight rustle. He saw slight, flickering movements in the corner of his eye. On the desk where the key was. Near Lauren, where a small lock of her hair was pushed behind her ear by a hand that could only be seen if he didn’t focus on it. Even he himself was moved, a mere two degrees to the right.

Then . . . the key was in his hand.

\--

Carlos was officially convinced that Cecil’s double truly had no idea how out of hand StrexCorp had gotten. Or, he now had an idea, but it certainly had taken a while. “You . . . don’t say,” he said, feigning shock.

Cecil’s double nodded. “It’s true,” he whispered, his empty, void-like eyes widening. “I probably can’t say any more. . . .” He bit nervously on his thumb, his razor-sharp, fang-like teeth breaking the flesh. Blood ran down his hand, but he seemed oblivious. He was _still_ smiling. Jesus. What did it take for someone to _stop smiling_ around here? “I think I need your help,” he said.

“Oh . . . Okay. Right . . . Help with what, exactly?”

“Getting out of the picnic! You said it’s not impossible, right?”

“Shh, shh,” Carlos urged. He glanced around as many of the bloody StrexCorp drones began to stare at the pair with curious looks on their faces. No, not curious looks . . . _furious_ looks. “Listen,” he whispered, “I can help, but it will take some time. Okay? And no one can know.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He grinned widely, even more fully than before, showing more of his grotesque, animalistic mouth than Carlos wanted to see.

“Great,” he squeaked in a desperate effort to keep the terror out of his voice. “Uh . . . Well, I can’t get to my lab from here, due to the whole, uh . . . _trapped_ thing . . . but I _may_ still have . . .” He began to dig around in his lab coat pockets. His coat was definitely worn by now, having it be something he had worn this entire past month. He shoved one of his hands into a pocket, and the entire seam split open. “Ah, sh--” Luckily, there was nothing in there, but it was still infuriating. This coat was _tailor-made_. A gift, too, from--

Never mind that. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

He didn’t have much, he discovered during his search. One or two test tubes, some withered notes on the house that didn’t exist (dammit, and he was so close to coming to a conclusion on that damn thing!), and his cell phone, completely drained of battery. “Oh, jeez,” he muttered. “Now how am I supposed to get the hell out of here?”

\--

How the hell was Tamika supposed to get out of here? She barely knew where she was. Some building, obviously. Probably-- _hopefully_ \--in Night Vale. But other than that, she had no clue. She had been blindfolded when she was “escorted” in here. Her hand still hurt, as though there were a thousand, miniscule glass fibers embedded into her skin. Ugh, let’s not even talk about the _blood_. It had the worst, most nauseating, metallic scent, and it got stronger with every passing second.

Back to getting the hell out of here--she had, on many occasions, been “escorted” to another room. Sure, it had been some sort of sadistic, medieval torture shack (those little bitches had even thought it “funny” and “appropriate” to design the room to look like the library, those bitches), but there had been _other_ rooms, rooms they had avoided. She had asked about one of them--one that had a white glow peaking out between the cracks between the door and the walls and floor--but the answer to that question had been a blow to the head and a series of furry, foreign insects crawling over and inhabiting her body. Don’t worry, she’d gotten most of them out, save for an ant or two. But who didn’t have ants crawling around their respiratory system?

Anyway, maybe she could retrace her forced steps and find herself back at that glowing door? It had to be important if none of the Strex drones would let her even speak about it. Of course, no was allowed to speak about the Dog Park, either. Or the Shape in Grove Park. Or mountains. Or angels. Or--

Okay, never mind. But it was still worth a look, wasn’t it? And if it was dangerous . . . she was Tamika Flynn, dammit. She fought off librarians and came out _alive_. She had been the only one brave enough to do _something_ about StrexCorp! And so what if she didn’t have her militia of kids with her. If anything, she was twice as strong without them as with them. How many other thirteen-year-olds would do all the things she had done in her life? She had started the rebellion. It was going to end with her--either as the victor, or dead.

She pushed her frizzy locks out of her face and began to hobble down the hall.


	8. Desperation

Kevin pushed his boyfriend’s hair out of his face. “I can see you’re a little stressed,” he said. “There’s no reason to start right now.” He ran the back of his hand against his boyfriend’s jaw, caressing the light stubble on his chin. “Let’s just calm down . . . maybe sleep a little?”

“Are you crazy?” asked his boyfriend. “If you’re right, we can’t take a _break_. If you’re right, we need to use all the time we can!”

Kevin sighed. “I guess you’re right. We should work on _something_. You know, for productivity’s sake.”

_Yes. Productivity. Money. Work. StrexCorp . . ._

Kevin blinked successively. That was strange. Probably a glitch or something.

“Well . . . ,” his boyfriend said. “We obviously were able to get in here. And I was able to get in here even _after_ the fence was put up, so it must only be electrified on one side. Which, of course, seems scientifically impossible, but science is weird here.” He shook his head.

“You always say that,” Kevin said after a beat.

“What?”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah, you always say that. What do you mean, science is always . . . _weird_ here?”

“Well, nothing, just that . . .”

“Is science . . . _not_ weird wherever you’re from?”

“Science is . . . _normal_ , I guess. Science made _sense_ where I was from. It’s weird here because the laws of basic science don’t apply. An _electric fence_ that’s only electric on one side? That’s scientifically impossible! But here, not only is it possible, it’s _real_.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to say. I’m just stressed.”

Kevin stared at his boyfriend’s temple, admiring his amazing hair. It had always been that way. But it seemed a little shorter now. He hoped he hadn’t gotten a haircut. The idea of such a thing sent shivers down his spine. And _not_ in a good way. “Why . . . are you stressed?”

His boyfriend laughed softly. “I just gotta get the hell outta here.”

“Why?” Kevin asked again.

“Same reason you do.”

“Right . . . I’m starting to think . . .” Starting to think, what? That he was wrong? That couldn’t be right. He knew what he knew--StrexCorp had been manipulating him and his town for _years_. What, was he just going to ignore that little nugget of information? What was going on with him? One minute he hated StrexCorp, the next he was wondering what the heck he was thinking?

This had Strex manipulation written all over it. Or . . . did it? Darnit, he couldn’t tell.

\--

Cecil couldn’t tell if it was night or day. He didn’t know how much time Carlos had left. Where could Carlos be? He had certainly heard the broadcast, right? Unless he was still missing. If he wasn’t missing, he would have heard the broadcast. Hell, even if he _were_ missing, he probably still would have heard the broadcast somehow. He was Night Vale Community Radio’s most devoted fan.

It was hard to tell which end of the key went into which key hole. The key had approximately eight--no, nine--separate ends, and the handcuffs themselves had four--no, three--different key holes. One of the ends fit into one of the holes, but it was impossible to tell which just by touch. This was nearly impossible, but it was certainly better than having no key at all.

His hands were sweaty. His head bobbed occasionally from sleep-deprivation. _Stay . . . awake . . . ,_ he urged himself. He couldn’t fall asleep now. Not when he was so close to escape.

As he prodded the sixth--seventh?--end of the key into the first key hole, he realized that he had no plan of what he was going to do when he did escape. He couldn’t overtake Lauren alone, not when she clearly had the advantage of a good night’s sleep and healthy eating for the past month while he had gotten rocks for a bed and . . . food in the legal sense. Maybe he should wait for Carlos. At least then there’d be two of them and only one of her.

He didn’t want to think that his reasons for not waiting for Carlos was because he didn’t believe in him. The day he stopped believing in Carlos was the day after he died--that day in which all of his material items were burned and all his personality traits were reversed and assigned to random newborns, as per tradition. No, he wasn’t waiting for Carlos because he couldn’t risk having Carlos be vulnerable and completely in Lauren’s control. She was obsessed with him, this much Cecil had learned simply while observing her all day. He didn’t want Carlos to end up in the same situation as him, if not worse. And just because Lauren got Carlos didn’t mean she was going to release Cecil--alive, anyway.

Where was she, anyway? He had thought he had seen a dark corner that she had disappeared into earlier today, but that dark corner no longer existed. Where could she have gone without actually leaving . . . ?

\--

How could Carlos leave? Especially now that Cecil’s double was being confusing and just outright unhelpful. Sure, he hadn’t expected he’d be much help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be useful. Apparently, it did. “You’re starting to think, what?” he prompted, though he couldn’t care less.

“I’m . . . starting to think . . . that we shouldn’t be doing this,” Cecil’s double finally said.

Carlos sighed deeply. “Look, I don’t care if you’re with me or not. I’m getting the hell out of here.” He started to think. Well, if the electric fence was electric, scientifically speaking, he could avoid getting electrocuted if he had rubber. Rubber didn’t conduct electricity. Now, there had to be rubber somewhere. . . .

His shoe? Worth a shot. He removed the only shoe he had left and slowly approached the electric fence. When he was within one foot of the sparking metal, he gently tossed his shoe to the fence. It hit the metal with a _clang_ and a _bzzzzt_! The shoe dropped to the ground, completely blackened and full of holes. It sparked a couple more times, jumping off the grass, before sputtering out and lying on its side, hopefully dormant.

“Shoes . . . _not_ rubber,” Carlos noted to himself. That shoe was the only thing he had that could even _possibly_ be rubber. Since it wasn’t, he was going to have to try another plan. If the fence was only electrified on this side, it was possible this was due to, maybe, an incomplete circuit. It would make most sense that the area of the fence from where he arrived was the area that was dead. But . . . which area was that?

Carlos thought back. This past month was fuzzy to him enough; he could barely recall how he had survived in the desert for so long, and how he had gone an entire month without sleeping, but there were certain moments of _today_ that were blacked out. For example, arriving at the company picnic in the first place. He remembered hearing Cecil on the radio in his apartment and running out of the building. He saw the conglomeration of people, and . . . then he was being strangled by Cecil’s double. That was it.

It was possible that, as some sort of security measure, the side of the fence that wasn’t electrified had some sort of memory-altering enhancement. Thinking about this, he was immediately reminded of the first time the glow cloud had come into town. The cloud had caused an entire chunk of that day to be erased from everyone’s minds. Was it possible the fence was using some of that energy? Maybe it was harming the glow cloud, and that was why it was dropping _live_ animals instead of dead ones, as Carlos had seen before entering town today.

He was no closer to figuring out how to get out of the company picnic, but at least he was connecting some of the dots. He didn’t know how many dots were left between the one he was currently on and the final dot, but at least he was doing _something_. He was being . . . _productive_.

Now, he had to find the dead area of the electric fence. And _fast_. The midnight moon had already risen, and he was, admittedly, beginning to get sleepy. _Stay . . . awake . . . ,_ he urged himself as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. _For . . . Cecil . . ._

There had to be time. Time for him to escape. Time for him to find Cecil. Time for them to stop StrexCorp. They could do it. Together. With science. And Cecil’s voice. With science and voice, they will stop StrexCorp.


	9. Brave Little Rebels

Stop StrexCorp? Don’t stop StrexCorp? Stop StrexCorp. Don’t stop StrexCorp.

_Note to self: make up mind about whether or not to stop StrexCorp._

Kevin’s mind plagued him with these thoughts as he tried to sleep. He had no idea why he was so tired; it seemed as though everyone else at the Company Picnic was still working tirelessly. Sure, some had nodded off once or twice, but that was why there were Strex workers roaming the grounds with metallic hooks to keep eyelids open. Why the had ignored him and allowed him to sleep, he didn’t think he’d ever know.

He watched his boyfriend analyze the fence. It seemed _he_ was dead set on leaving the Picnic. And possibly stopping StrexCorp. Should he side with him? His boyfriend was always right--there had never been a time when he hadn’t been. And while the prospect of leaving and taking down Strex was attractive, Kevin wasn’t sure if it was . . . _right_. Could he live without StrexCorp?

No . . . Could _StrexCorp_ live without _him_?

He arose. He sauntered over to the fence. He was tentative in touching the fence. It was only a fence. But it had seemed to be instilling fear in his fellow workers. _Fear . . ._

It was only a fence. And . . . anything Strex created couldn’t cause harm for anyone . . . right? Yes, this was true. Strex couldn’t hurt anyone; they only meant to help. To instill a feeling of productivity. Of happiness. Of conformity. Of safety. Why would anyone be hurt by this? It didn’t make sense. Productivity didn’t hurt. Nor did happiness, or conformity, or safety. Besides, he wanted to help his boyfriend.

He pressed his hand to the fence.

First came the _bzzzzzzt_ sound. Kevin had never heard anything quite like that before. It kinda rang in the ears a little. The sound made his bones vibrate. It tickled. He giggled a little.

Next came the smell. Almost like barbecue. Now, who on earth could have been barbecuing at this hour? Now, he knew it was a Company Picnic, and things like that were common, but it was late, and they all had work to do. It did smell good, though. He hoped there would be enough for him.

Then, the white. The white enveloped his vision. He moved his eyes, but everything was simply that. White. It was beautiful. Seraphic, even. His eyeballs itched a little. He closed his eyes, only to see even more of the white. He smiled a little bit. He was glad something so beautiful, so pure, wasn’t ever going to leave him.

Finally, his entire body was electric. Every nerve, every cell, was abuzz. It made all other sense go dull, and he admitted himself to the feeling. It was . . . wonderful. He knew it. He knew the fence would not hurt him.

\--

_“We will not hurt you, Cecil.”_

_“Lies, all lies!” he cried out. His arms and legs were chained. Eyeless, bloody Strex drones stood over him, their mouths twisted into grotesque, animalistic smiles. False smiles, real smiles, it didn’t matter. They were warped. They were robots. Only worse._

_They were human._

_“StrexCorp is only trying to help,” the continued in unison. “StrexCorp is only trying to help. We are here to help.”_

_“No,” Cecil urged. “No, StrexCorp is not here to ‘help’. Stop filling the world with your lies, you demonic excuse for a company!”_

_“Cecil.”_

No, _he thought._ No, no, no. _He knew that voice. He_ lived _for that voice. He couldn’t bear to hear it. He couldn’t even bring himself to whisper the name of the person to whom the voice belonged._

_“Cecil.”_

_Reluctantly, Cecil looked sharply in the direction of the voice. There he was. The voice’s owner. Carlos, his lab coat replaced with a StrexCorp uniform. Carlos, his eyes missing and his sockets dripping blood. Carlos, his mouth twisted into one of those grotesque, animalistic grins._

_“Join us, Cecil,” he said._

_“No,” Cecil said. “No. No! NO!”_

_Carlos didn’t cease smiling as he crossed over to Cecil. “We’re only here to help. StrexCorp is only trying to help. StrexCorp is only trying to help.” The rest of the Strex drones chanted this in unison with Carlos, over and over in a deadly crescendo, until Cecil’s screams were audibly mute._

_“I knew your boyfriend would be a valuable asset,” Lauren said. She placed her hand on Carlos’ shoulder and pulled him slightly in her direction. He bowed his head down slightly to take her into a kiss._

Cecil’s head jolted upward. God, what a nightmare. He had been having those constantly this past month, but none as bad as this. How long had he been asleep? It had to have been hours. Was he any closer to escaping his cuffs? He jammed one end of the key into one of the key holes. It didn’t fit.

But Lauren wasn’t here. He craned his neck and looked as far as he could, but he couldn’t see her. Had she left while he was asleep? That didn’t sound like Lauren, bu he was going to take any advantage he could get. He pulled at the handcuffs, hoping they would give. Nothing. He had never been in such a horrible situation. He considered himself lucky; at least he was still alive. But he didn’t know how long he would be alive, and he still didn’t know the status of what was left of Night Vale. At the very least he needed to escape. Maybe then he could pick up the shattered remains of his town. Piece it back together.

He tried the key once more. He ran his thumb along the several ends. One of them was right, this he knew for sure. But it was impossible to distinguish which ones he had already tried and which ones he hadn’t.

There was a series of metallic bangs. Cecil was so shocked by the sudden noise, he dropped the key behind him. He clenched his teeth together to keep from yelling. He placed his feet flat on the floor. The chair had wheels on the legs, so he moved his feet slowly backwards, backing as far away from the door as he could. The back of the chair pressed up against the wall, and he kept his breathing shallow and quiet.

The door cracked open just barely. Cecil held his breath. He spotted the key on the floor and cursed himself for dropping it. If Lauren saw it . . .

The door opened completely. “Oh. My. God.”

\--

“Oh my God,” Carlos muttered. He had almost fallen asleep while analyzing the electric fence, but the bright blue and white lights and the long _bzzzzzzt_ had jolted him awake. Cecil’s double was touching the fence. And he was being electrocuted.

“Get away from there!” Carlos yelled, though he doubted it would do any good. He ran to Cecil’s double and grabbed him around the waist. He heaved backwards, and they both fell flat on their backs. Carlos shoved the double off of him and scrambled to a stand. The double’s eyes were wide open, somewhat glazed over but still somewhat responsive. Did he _survive_? That was imposs--

No, Carlos was not about to have a debate with himself over whether or not something was possible.

Unless . . .

Carlos crouched back down and pressed two fingers to Cecil’s double’s neck. He had a pulse. He was breathing. He gently shook the double’s shoulder, who then blinked rapidly and lifted his head slightly. “Hello,” he said with that grotesque, inhuman smile. “Oh . . . I think I fell asleep. What did I miss? I didn’t lose any work, did I?”

“Uh . . . ,” Carlos stammered. “No, no, you’re fine. Come on, get up.” He grabbed the double’s hand and pulled him to a standing position. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We . . . were talking. About science, I think. We need to get back to work.”

Carlos looked quizzically up at the night sky. “There’s nothing . . . to do. What work could we--?”

“There’s always _something_. Always something that can be improved, someone’s life that can be made happier. And working for StrexCorp does that with our work. StrexCorp--where people are gay. And by gay, we mean happy.”

Carlos had no response to that. Last he had talked to Cecil’s double, he had been questioning Strex. Now he was totally devoted to them. And he seemed to be suffering memory loss. It appeared as though Carlos’ theory on the fence was correct--it caused temporary amnesia. It also seemed to improve any thoughts of StrexCorp. _Clever,_ he thought. _Keep us trapped, and make us devoted to you._

Well, it seemed--dead spot or not--that the fence wouldn’t harm anyone who came in its vicinity. Unless Cecil’s double had paranormal powers. But if he were anything like Cecil, that wasn’t very likely.

He was formulating a plan. It was risky-- _beyond_ risky--but taking risk was a big part of being a scientist. He had to get out, he had to save Cecil, he had to stop StrexCorp. The only way to do that was to follow through on the plan. Besides, if he was right, he would have stumbled upon a _major_ scientific breakthrough. Sure, he did that every day in Night Vale, but this was a breakthrough that could be used in the real world.

He was going to do it. He just couldn’t be caught.

\--

Kevin couldn’t be caught not doing work! There had to be something he could do. . . . See, this was the problem with being a radio host; there was only so little work to be done everyday. He couldn’t reach his full productive potential if there wasn’t any work to be done. Goshdarnit.

His boyfriend was scribbling something on the inside of his arm. Why, that was silly. There was tons of paper here. Kevin thought he should go get some. At least he could be helpful.

On his way to get some notebook paper, Kevin saw Lauren. Oh, how wonderful! He hadn’t seen her all day. “Lauren!” he called, waving his hand above his head.

She walked up to him quickly. Very quickly. She grabbed his arm--kind of hard, actually, but she probably just couldn’t contain her excitement--and pulled him with her. She was still walking pretty fast, but she was also walking him _away_ from the paper. “Lauren, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. Kevin didn’t like the look on her face. Her eyebrows were drawn close together, forming a little wrinkle on her forehead. Her lips were pursed together, like when she would work, but closer. And her smile . . . That wasn’t a smile. Where were her teeth? Why weren’t her lips pulled back to her ears? Where was that beautiful glow that came with happiness? It hurt just to think about it.

“Lauren . . . ,” he said.

“ _What_?” she asked. She stopped and looked at Kevin. Before Kevin’s eyes, her head was thrown back, and a bright glow came upon her face. Her lips curved upwards, and Kevin was happy because she was happy. “Oh, sorry Kevin. I don’t know what’s been up with me lately. Anyway, what was your question?”

“Oh, I was just wondering what you were doing? Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere, Kevin. I’ll always be in your heart.”

“That can’t be healthy. . . . No, I mean, I haven’t seen you all day!”

“Oh, well, I was just doing a little bit of work. In Night Vale.”

Kevin gasped happily. “Oh, in _Night Vale_? How are they doing? Er, what’s left of them. They’re loving everything, aren’t they?”

“No, Kevin, see that’s the thing. They’re so . . . resistant . . . to change. I can’t believe it. Why wouldn’t they want StrexCorp in their lives?” She giggled. “I mean, just look at what Strex has done for you!” She gestured to him and cocked her head slightly. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He looked himself over. His clothes seemed to have a few more holes than usual. And there was blood on him--not that that was unusual, but the blood didn’t smell right. He poked at some of it, and he found a raw, exposed bit of his _own_ muscle and bone. “Oh, dear. I don’t remember that.”

“Kevin, it looks like you’ve got some nasty burns.”

“Well, Lauren, those aren’t unusual. We do live in a desert after all. . . .”

“No, I know, but these aren’t normal desert-related sunburns, Kevin. These look kind of bad.” Her eyes widened. “Did you . . . Did you touch the fence?”

“No! Why would I touch the fence? It’s dangerous, you said so yourself. Well . . . No, I didn’t touch the fence.”

She let out a long exhalation. “Oh, thank Smiling God.”

Kevin was happy. “Oh!” he said in remembrance. “I have to go get some paper. I think my boyfriend needs some.”

“Your boy--?” Lauren began, but then she stopped when her eyes locked with Kevin’s boyfriend’s. That grin that she already wore heightened, and her beautiful--though small and oddly flat--teeth shone with white brilliance. “You’re here,” she whispered.

“Yeah, Lauren, I’ve been here a while . . . ,” Kevin muttered.

“No, not you,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed to his boyfriend. “ _Him_.”

She began to walk towards him. Kevin hurried to catch up. “He’s kinda busy, Lauren,” he told her. “Maybe we should let him work. You know. Productivity.”

“Oh, he can work, alright. He can work just fine.”

_I am really confused,_ Kevin thought. He saw his boyfriend, and his boyfriend saw him. Kevin waved, but his boyfriend’s eyes widened and he ran to the fence.

“You can’t run!” Lauren yelled.

Kevin’s boyfriend looked to Lauren and then to Kevin. He was right next to the fence, and he was breathing deeply. His hair had never looked so disheveled. “I can’t?” he asked. “Really?” A corner of his lip quirked up, and that was the closest to a smile Kevin had seen from him all day. “Try me.”

He grabbed hold of the fence, and Lauren screamed.


	10. And So It Begins

There was a scream that followed the opening of the door. More of a battle cry, actually. Tamika was running in through the door, and she stopped suddenly when she saw Cecil. “Tamika!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe-- How did you--?”

“Forbidden blood stone stuff,” she replied, looking quite proud of herself. Cecil was proud of her, too. “I know it’s banned, but I figured, hey, I’m already in jail, right? Besides, there is no way in hell I’m letting Strex get any farther than they already have.” She cocked her head and squinted at Cecil. “Need any help?”

“Yes, please! The--the key fell over--”

“Yeah, I see it.” Tamika crossed over to the fallen key and picked it up. She crouched down behind Cecil’s chair and began to fit each hole until one finally worked. The cuffs clicked open and dropped to the floor. Cecil rubbed his aching wrists in front of him. The metal had cut into his flesh and left small “S”-shaped marks on his skin. “Tamika, are you okay?” he asked, taking note of her injuries.

Tamika looked herself over. “I’m alive,” she said, shrugging. “I haven’t been able to find the rest of my militia. The only thing I found was a glowing door, but that just led here.”

“Well, thank God you did.” Cecil looked over his shoulder, as though someone might have arrived in the room within the past few minutes. No one had, but he supposed he was still a little anxious. “We have to get out of here. For Night Vale.”

“Yes. For Night Vale.” Tamika pursed her lips. “You don’t happen to have a plan, do you?”

“Um . . . As far as plans go, I’m afraid I have to admit that I’m not the best at those. So far my plan was escape, find Carlos, and stop Strex. There wasn’t a lot of detail in there.”

“Wonderful.” She sighed. “Well, this is incredibly awkward, isn’t it?”

Cecil laughed softly. “You wanna hear awkward? This one time, Carlos--”

Cecil was cut off by a grand thunderclap, the kind heard in movies when something dramatic had happened or would happen. This wasn’t the case here. If anything, the clap only exaggerated the sense of awkwardness in the room. Here they were, two recently escaped insurgents with no plan, no idea of how to save the town, and, frankly, nothing really to offer at this point. Cecil knew there had to be something he could do, something he could say. Tamika appeared as though she was extremely desperate, and he couldn’t blame her. He, too, was desperate--desperate to escape and stop Strex, but he felt helpless.

“I . . . may have an idea,” Tamika said finally. “It might be bat shit insane, but what do we really have to lose at this point?”

“Oh,” Cecil said simply. “Well, great! Can I help in any way?”

Tamika smiled mischievously. She looked around the room. “This a real radio studio? It can really broadcast to Night Vale?”

“Yes.” He said this word almost like a question. “Why--?”

“Just do what you do best, Cecil.” She pointed to the microphone. “Report. Tell all of Night Vale to never lose sight of what they want or of what they strive for. Then, tell StrexCorp and Desert Bluffs this one sentence, and make sure they know it’s from me. Tell them . . . ‘the only thing you have to fear is fear myself.’”

Cecil felt the smile grow on his face before he made the decision to do so. Here she was: Tamika Flynn. She truly was a legend--thirteen years old and already stared death in the face more times than the average Night Vale citizen (not much more, but it was especially legendary given her young age and all-around knack for getting herself into trouble). While her attempt at insurgency on Parade Day had been a bust, he had complete faith in her now. Besides, he would try anything to get his town back.

Anything to get Carlos back.

“Listeners,” he said into the microphone. “I. Am. Here. To. Tell. You. Something. _Wonderful_.”

\--

Each. Shock. Sent. Pain. Into. His. Skull. And. He. Could. Barely. Focus. But. He. Had. To. Do. _It_.

His feet reached the top of the fence, and, without looking back, he jumped. His feet hit the ground, he lost his balance, and toppled over. Where . . . was he?

He stood up and looked back. A woman was standing behind a fence, surrounded by hollow, bloody, eyeless men and women in suits. The woman stood out; she was not covered in blood, and she had her eyes. Her eyes were boring holes into him. There was anger in those eyes. Anger . . . and something else. He couldn’t identify it.

He had the strangest feeling he was supposed to do something. Something important. He turned back around and ran his hand through his hair. He stopped. There was something on his hand. He examined it. CECIL. It was written on his hand. He knew that name. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew that name.

There was a small spot of black ink on that arm. He rolled up his sleeve. STREXCORP = EVIL. FIND CECIL. SHERIFF’S SECRET POLICE. GO. GO. GO. CARLOS DON’T FORGET.

Forget . . . He wasn’t going to forget. He was going to remember. Cecil . . . Cecil . . . He remembered StrexCorp. StrexCorp was the father company of his town. The town was called . . . Desert Bluffs? No. Night Vale. Now, find Cecil? Cecil. And the Sheriff’s Secret Police . . . He had to find the Sheriff’s Secret Police? Was that where Cecil was? He had to find them. He didn’t know why, but he did. He was a scientist, and a scientist always trusted his instincts and whatever strange messages appeared on his person when he had no recollection of said messages.

Cecil. Sheriff’s Secret Police. Cecil. Sheriff’s Secret Police. He knew that the Sheriff’s Secret Police was somewhere in his town. . . .  Where precisely, he wasn’t sure. He had the strangest sense of deja vu right now, which was curious to him. It was likely this wasn’t deja vu and that he actually _had_ already done this before. Was that right? What was the last thing he remembered? It was strange; he could remember yesterday and earlier today and ten years ago, but he couldn’t remember ten minutes ago. He knew he should try to remember what he had forgotten-- since amnesia was among the leading top twelve and a half causes of death in scientists nationwide\--but there was _something_ about what was written on his arm that he had to figure out.

“Cecil.” He said the name aloud this time. Whispered it. It felt familiar on his tongue. There were words that seemed to want to follow, but a twist in his gut told him to ignore those instincts. Whoever this Cecil was, he certainly had a deep connection to him. It was the strangest thing, but it almost felt like they were in a relationship. . . .

_Cecil._ He knew. He remembered. He was amazed that he could remember so quickly, and he didn’t know how, but he remembered that this was Night Vale. And Cecil was his boyfriend. And he needed him.

There was something Cecil had said once. It was two years ago, but it seemed as though Carlos was randomly remembering things for no apparent reason right now, so he tried to remember. A store . . . a front for the Sheriff’s Secret Police . . . right next to the radio station.

He knew where to go.

\--

“Where did he go?” Lauren shrieked. “How did he get over the fence? How did--?” She took in a sharp inhale and let it out ever-so-slowly.

Kevin stared at Lauren curiously. She seemed so unhappy. That was so unlike her. “I wish I could help, Lauren,” he said lamely. “I really do--”

“Kevin,” she said unbelievably slowly, “I’m fine. Really.”

“You don’t look fine.” Kevin examined her curiously, and then he looked back at the fence. His boyfriend was long gone. Kevin was amazed; he didn’t think it was possible to get over the fence. That was why it was there, wasn’t it? To keep the workers in? But if he could get over it . . .

_“Li--ers.”_ Kevin was snapped from his reverie by the staticky, crackly sound of an out-of-range radio frequency. That voice . . . He knew _that_ voice. It had been so long since he had heard the voice of his double! He looked around for the nearest radio. When he found one, he adjusted the frequency and turned up the volume.

_“This is a message for all of Night Vale,”_ his double continued. _“I am here to tell you that not all is lost. But you must never lose sight of what you want. Never lose sight of what you are striving for. I promise you when I say that StrexCorp can and will be defeated. Just remember, Night Vale, that you must rise up. You must fight. And you must never forget that we are a town united by a common enemy. It is time to redeem yourselves, Night Vale. Redeem yourselves for the failed Parade Day revolution. Redeem yourselves. Take down Strex, get our town back, save us all.”_

“Kevin.”

Kevin turned around. Lauren was standing right behind him. He hadn’t noticed her coming up. “What is that?” she asked.

“I think it’s my double,” he replied. “I’m really not liking the things he’s saying. How can he look so much like me but be so much different?” Was he really different, though?

_“And now, a message for Desert Bluffs and for StrexCorp from Tamika Flynn: the only thing you have to fear is fear herself.”_

What did this mean? All the things his double had said--rise up, fight, take down Strex, fear herself--was he trying to start another uprising? He must if he was communicating with Tamika Flynn. He looked back at Lauren. She did not look happy in the least.

“Kevin, I need you,” she said. She looked over Kevin’s shoulder and squinted into the distance.

“For what?” he asked.

“It’s open . . . ,” he heard Lauren whisper. She grinned wildly at Kevin. “Just come with me.” She grabbed his hand and began running towards the center of the Picnic. She stopped immediately upon reaching a glowing white vortex.

“I know this . . . ,” Kevin muttered happily. He had gone through here twice, and both times he had encountered his double. He wanted to see him again. “Are we going through?” he asked.

“Yes, Kevin.” Without further ado, she ran into the portal, and Kevin followed eagerly.

\--

Cecil was eager to continue the broadcast, but he knew his priorities were to help Tamika. If it were a normal broadcast, nothing would stop him from continuing, but since it wasn’t, he knew he couldn’t.

“They heard that, right?” asked Tamika. She was rifling through the drawers in the room. Cecil didn’t know what she was looking for, but he knew it must be important.

“They should have,” Cecil replied, only because he had no means of knowing if they could or couldn’t hear it.

“It’s only a matter of--”

Tamika was cut off by a faint buzzing sound and the glowing of a black vortex. “Oh, no,” Cecil muttered, recognizing this portal immediately. Its existence had only led to him coming in contact with his double, a vicious, wicked, demented man. He did not want to see that man again.

“Cecil, what is that?” Tamika asked, staring straight at the portal.

“Some unholy vortex that connects our world to the world of . . . I don’t even know to what world it connects ours, just that it is pure, _pure_ evil. It’s probably worse than anything you’ve experienced at the library.”

She laughed. “I doubt that. How bad is it?”

“I think this is where my double came from.” The awful memories of Cecil running into his double--Kevin, he believed his name was--flashed before his eyes. Those horrible void-like eyes, that sick, twisted smile, his callused, faux optimism, and the blood. All that blood . . .

“If he comes, he will surely try to kill us,” Cecil told Tamika.

“No worries.” She held up a dozen freshly sharpened pencils, two staplers, a few rubber bands, and a letter opener. “We will be ready.” She tossed one of the staplers to Cecil.

He caught it and turned it over in his hands. He didn’t condone violence--he’d told his listeners countless times before--but if he had to defend himself to save Night Vale, he would do whatever it took. “Thank you, Tamika. I am honored to fight beside you. And . . . I apologize for what I said earlier. What you did wasn’t stupid; it was the most inspiring thing I have ever seen.”

She smiled, and it was the first time Cecil had seen her smile since he had known her. “No problem. I think they were putting re-education drugs in our food. Hell, even I was starting to blame myself, starting to convince myself that it would have been better if I’d have just left well enough alone. Thank God we got our senses back when we did.” She looked over her shoulder. “We should go, shouldn’t we?” she said. “After all, there may or may not be a revolution happening outside.”

Cecil nodded. “It’ll be nice to be a part of it. Instead of helplessly trapped in the studio.”

“I’m sure it will,” came a female voice that did _not_ belong to Tamika. Cecil turned back to the vortex to see Lauren and Kevin staring at him. And smiling grotesquely. “But . . . I’m afraid that’s simply not possible.”

Time seemed to slow, although it was possible it was actually speeding up. While Lauren and Kevin were unarmed, Cecil knew they were capable of so much, weapons or not. Their own smiles were stunning and terrifying by themselves.

“Tamika . . . ,” Cecil said slowly, “go.”

“No way, I have to--”

“Tamika, there is still a Company Picnic and thousands of Strex workers out there. Anything that happens here will mean _nothing_ if you don’t get out of here, get to Night Vale, and get everyone free and fighting.”

“I will not leave you here with these . . . these--”

“Tamika, it’s been so long,” Lauren said, her voice, while cheery, was spiked with bitterness like acid. Her eyes caught sight of Tamika’s bloodied and broken hand, and she _tsk_ ed softly. “I always warned you you would get hurt if you continued in your ways.”

“You _bitch_!” Tamika shrieked, hurling herself at Lauren.

“Tamika, no!” Cecil yelled, catching her arm. “She’s not worth it.”

“I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say, Cecil,” Kevin said.

Cecil turned his attention to his double and sneered at him. “ _You_.”

“It’s been too long. I told you our paths would cross once again, didn’t I?”

It took all of Cecil’s power to ignore his double long enough to whisper to Tamika, “Save Night Vale. I can handle them myself.”

“Cecil--”

“I believe they will stand behind you. I believe they know now that every moment they stand at the sidelines is another moment StrexCorp grows and Night Vale dies. Save them, and they will rally behind you. I believe in Night Vale.”

“You believed them last time.”

“This is all very touching,” Lauren interrupted, “but . . . Kevin, I think you should show Tamika how wonderful the Company Picnic is!”

“Great idea, Lauren!” Kevin agreed. “Come on, Tamika!”

“Over my dead body!” Tamika yelled. “And it’s not going to be _my_ body. ‘Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.’” In one hand, she held up a makeshift slingshot made of pencils and rubber bands. She grabbed a paperweight from the desk next to her and fixed it in the slingshot. She shot the paperweight at Lauren’s head, hitting her square between the eyes, knocking her off her feet.

“Lauren!” Kevin cried, rushing to her aid.

“Now, Tamika,” Cecil urged. “Go save Night Vale.”

“I--”

“Night Vale. Needs. _You_.”

She blinked slowly, realizing what he was saying. She looked back up at him and nodded stiffly before running out the door.

As the door shut behind him, Kevin looked up at Cecil, his void-like eyes boring holes into his body. And still, that horrible smile never left his face.

“Kevin . . . ,” Lauren moaned. She slowly rose to a sitting position, rubbing her head. A fresh, quarter-sized welt was forming on her head. She shook her head and looked at Cecil. At the sight of him, a cruel look crossed over her face, and she stood. Behind them, the vortex disappeared, and they were trapped.


	11. Renounce the Tyrant

Carlos wasn’t sure if Cecil was still trapped at the Sheriff’s Secret Police, but he knew it was his best lead. He remembered hearing that Play Ball was a front for the Sheriff’s Secret Police years ago. He doubted it was still like that after all these years. But when he opened the door and ran past the aisles of basketballs and fire pokers, he shoved a heavy iron door open and found himself in a dark hallway filled with empty cells. He ran through, checking every cell for anyone, but he only found a bloody pattern on the floor of one and a discarded pair of glasses on the floor of the other.

Cecil’s glasses.

So, if this was Cecil’s cell . . . where was Cecil? He looked back at the blood-stained cell across from Cecil’s. Who had been there? Had something happened? Was Cecil okay? These were questions he couldn’t answer, and he needed the answers.

Suddenly, a young teenager crashed into him. She had been running frantically, and blood stained her clothes. She looked at Carlos, and a small grin crossed over her face. “Night Vale will be free today,” she told him. “‘Do not go gentle into that good night. / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’”

Recognition filled Carlos’ head. “Tamika? Tamika Flynn?”

Her grin widened, and she smiled. “Night Vale will not fall. Do not believe in a Smiling God.”

“Tamika, have you seen Cecil?”

Wordlessly, she turned and pointed towards a glowing door at the end of the hall. “Do not go gentle,” she said again.

And without another word, she ran back out.

Cecil was behind that door, if Tamika was right. Carlos would take any lead he could.

\--

Kevin would help Cecil realize the truth any way he could. “Cecil,” he said gently, “I know you think that what you’re doing is right, but you’d be surprised. You’ve lived the way you have for too long. Trust me, when you accept StrexCorp and accept belief in a Smiling God, you won’t even remember this silly little thing.”

“This is not some ‘silly little thing’,” Cecil said. “StrexCorp is a silly little thing. Your ridiculous, inhumane Smiling God is a silly little thing. Night Vale and what we stand for is not a silly little thing.”

“StrexCorp isn’t silly either, Cecil,” Lauren cut in. “And I wouldn’t insult the Smiling God, either. He sees everything, you know. He will not be amused with what you say about him.”

“I’m not amused by your delusions, Lauren, but that doesn’t seem to make _you_ stop.”

Kevin’s eyes widened slightly at this comment, and he felt the strangest feeling--he almost wanted to laugh.

“Cecil,” Lauren continued, “please don’t make this harder than this needs to be. I mean, look at what good has come to your insignificant--ahem. Your _city_ since StrexCorp has been helping. So much productivity, so much money! Your economy is flourishing. Now, don’t say you could have done that without us. Because you couldn’t have.”

“Maybe we couldn’t have,” Cecil replied. “But why does StrexCorp care so much? Why does StrexCorp care so much about our ‘insignificant’ little town?”

“StrexCorp cares about everyone.”

Cecil scoffed. “Right. I’m sure that’s why you’ve been holding the entire town hostage and forcing your corrupt, capitalist beliefs down our throats. Because you care.”

“We care more than your Secret Police. Or The Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency. Or City Council. All they seem to care about is keeping you under control by banning some of the most simple of things and limiting your free speech. How can you be productive without pens or pencils? Or wheat and wheat by-products?”

“We got by without them just fine, Lauren. And we will continue to get by without them. As for the Secret Police and The Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency and City Council--all good governments care enough about citizens to properly ban anything that might be dangerous or cause them to have too much free thought. Everyone knows that, Lauren. God, you’re almost as bad as Steve Carlsberg.”

As Lauren and Cecil continued to argue--no, not argue, more like . . . discuss creatively and fervently--Kevin noticed that the inside of his arm was beginning to itch. It felt as though he had a bug on his skin, only embedded in his skin, actually. He scratched at his flesh, poking and prodding it with his nails until the itching went away, but it only flared up more. He pinched his skin together, grinding his nails in under the skin, looking for the bug. He found nothing, and his fingers started to get a little wet.

“Regardless, Cecil,” Lauren was saying, “this whole conversation is keeping us from being productive. Why don’t we just go on over to the Company Picnic, get a little work done, and never speak about this again, 'kay?”

“Do you not understand that that is literally the exact opposite of what I’m telling you I want?” Cecil asked.

“Goshdarnit,” Kevin muttered, still struggling with the bug in his skin. All he had succeeded in doing was making blood run down his arm, which only made it incredibly sticky and hard to locate the bug.

“And more importantly,” Cecil continued, “is _my_ being at the Company Picnic that important to you? Am  _I_ really important? Or is it . . . someone else?”

Lauren blinked, and her mouth gaped open in quiet shock. “As if you could imply that someone--a human _being_ \--isn’t important to the benefit of all, to productivity, to the Company Picnic--I’m shocked. I am genuinely shocked.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“How did you get ‘yes’ from _that_?”

“Subtext.”

Kevin had now resorted to chewing on his arm. _That bug has to be here somewhere,_ he thought.  
“You want Carlos.”

“Well, yeah. I-I mean, he’d be so helpful with productivity and . . . I mean, he’s a very valuable asset, Cecil. He’s very valuable and . . .”

“I can see right through you. No, literally, you have a big gaping hole in your stomach.”

“I have allergies. Anyway, that’s not the point. I mean, Carlos is . . . Smiling God, what is Carlos . . . ? Valuable. An asset. Very, very intelligent. Very, _very_ productive! He’s perfect, I mean--”

“He is _not_ perfect. He is imperfect, and he is _mine_. I mean, not like I own him or anything, but he’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t implying anything else.”

“I think you were.”

“Ow!” Kevin exclaimed as his teeth hit bone. Neither Cecil nor Lauren reacted.

“We’re missing the point of this conversation,” Lauren said.

“We’re arguing. The point is to prove that one of us is right!”

“You sound like a child.”

“I’m literally defining the word ‘arguing’! What are you doing?”

“I--” Lauren cut off when there was a small beeping sound. She checked her watch, and her grin grew. “It’s been twenty-four hours, Cecil.” She looked around the room. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Time isn’t real,” Cecil said. “The twenty-four hour deadline is arbitrary and void.”

“Regardless, your boyfriend isn’t here. That doesn’t look so good for you. . . .”

The taste in Kevin’s mouth was raw and thick, but he couldn’t stop. Not until he got that annoying little bug out of his skin.

“You’re threatening me again,” Cecil said. “You’ve been threatening me a lot, but haven’t really fulfilled any of those threats.”

“Do you _want_ me to?” Lauren asked.

“That’s not the point.”

“I think it is.”

Just then, the door burst open with a grand metallic _clang_. The sound echoed through the tiny room as Cecil, Lauren, and Kevin all jumped at the noise. Kevin looked at the door. There, standing in the doorway, was the silhouette of a man, his hair ragged yet perfect.

Cecil looked at the man, and Kevin saw the first real smile from him. “Carlos,” Cecil whispered.

\--

“Carlos,” Cecil whispered again. He couldn’t help himself; he ran to his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured into his lab coat.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Carlos said.

“Carlos.” The bitter sound of Lauren’s voice pulled Cecil away from Carlos, and he glared at her. “So glad you could make it,” she continued. “You may be a little late, but you’re here nonetheless, and that is great, isn’t it?”

“What do you want with him?” Cecil asked hardly. He was tired of Lauren’s games. He was tired of _StrexCorp’s_ games. He was tired.

“I want him in StrexCorp. He’ll be a wonderful--”

“Do not say ‘asset’.”

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Carlos murmured to Cecil.

“I’m fine. What about you?” Carlos’ lab coat was blackened and dirty, filled with holes. His hands and bare feet were cracking and blistery, almost close to bleeding. His hair was fried at the ends--his poor perfect hair!--and his eyes were tired and weary, but determined.

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’m--I’m fine.”

“This is all for the best,” Lauren said. “For productivity. For money. For a happier world.”

“Mhm,” Kevin said, nodding in agreement. Cecil’s eyes widened as he saw that his double was biting, tearing through his own flesh. There were bloody chunks of skin and muscle on the floor beneath him, and he seemed oblivious to all pain. “Lauren makes a good point,” he continued.

“Thank you, Kevin,” Lauren said, not even glancing in his direction. “If we were to all work together, productively, efficiently, ceaselessly, imagine all we could accomplish. Imagine our world. Imagine what we could learn and discover. I know that that is appealing to you.”

There was nothing to learn or discover. What Cecil had, what he knew, was enough for him. Anything he would ever learn or discover accidentally was fine with him. There was no need to expand anything. He was about to tell Lauren all of this when she said,

“Carlos. I know this is appealing to you. You don’t need to lie and hide. As a scientist, any chance you get to learn and discover more about the world _must_ be appealing to you. After all, that is why you came to Night Vale, isn’t it? Because of their strange nature, their oddities, their . . . scientifically interesting little world. And with StrexCorp, we will promote non-stop working. And for you, that means non-stop working to discover all of the secrets of Night Vale, all of the secrets of the universe. You can do what you love. Forever.”

“And ever,” Kevin added.

“Yes. Thank you, Kevin, and--” She turned to face Kevin and gasped. “KEVIN! WHAT ARE YOU--?”

“Oh.” Kevin pulled his mouth away from his arm. “Don’t mind me. Just have a little itch is all. In fact, I think--” He pressed his clawed hands into the bloody, shredded mess of blood and bone and sinew that had once been his arm and pulled out a small black object. “I found the bug.” He dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot.

“Kevin,” Lauren said. Slowly, coldly. “What. Did. You. Just. _Do_?”

He was still grinning. And then . . . very slowly . . . it began to melt from his face. He cocked his head to look at Lauren. He squinted and parted his lips. “Lauren,” he said. Just that. Just her name.

“We--we have to get you back,” she stammered. “We have to get you back to the Company Picnic. First, get Cecil and Carlos, get--”

“I don’t want to go back to the Company Picnic,” he said in monotone.

“Of course you do. Come on, it’ll be fun. You said so yourself.”

“No. The Company Picnic isn’t fun. It’s all work. It’s non-stop. Everyone is smiling, but it’s not real. It’s all by force, whether from their own facial muscles forcing themselves to stay upright or from the Strex supervisors who go around with staples and knives and hooks to keep the smiles in place when the muscles begin to slack. Everyone is hurting. The Company Picnic isn’t everything I thought it was.”

“Kevin, Kevin, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No. All of this is ridiculous. The Company Picnic, StrexCorp--”

“StrexCorp, Kevin? Where people are gay? And by gay, we mean happy?”

“No. By gay, we mean gay. As in homosexual. We are all homosexual. I have a boyfriend. Carlos is gay. Stop trying to change him so he can be in your sick fantasies, you homophobe.”

Cecil’s eyes widened, both impressed and disturbed.

“StrexCorp is . . . your home,” Lauren said. “Your family. You don’t know what you’re saying, you’re delusional.”

“I could say the same about you,” Kevin replied. “Believing in this . . . Smiling God.”

“Don’t. Talk. That. Way. About. The Smiling God,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes growing and yellowing. There was a glow to her entire body, a glow that probably wouldn’t have been noticeable if not for the dark aura that was already in the room. “He . . . is _perfect_. Kevin, we need to go back to the Company Picnic. You’re--you’re missing Desert Bluffs.”

“No. I’m not. In fact, I’ve never been more whole now that I’m _away_ from Desert Bluffs.”

“KEVIN! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING!”

“I do. I renounce everything. I renounce Desert Bluffs, I renounce StrexCorp, I renounce the Smiling God--”

What happened next was something Cecil could never have imagined.


	12. Meanwhile in Night Vale

Tamika never could have imagined her old home to look like . . . _this_. But no matter. She had to find her militia. It was within minutes that she was accosted by a biomachine. It was in a Strex suit and wore a name tag that read: Daniel. “Tamika Flynn,” it intoned, “you are to be incarcerated.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Right, because that worked out so well the last time.”

As it approached her, she grabbed hold of its metallic hand and wrenched it forward. It bent forward, and she rammed her bony elbow into its back. He collapsed to the ground below her, sputtered and sparked, and died.

“Wow. Really the best you can do?” She scoffed, kicking the biomachine’s head. She squinted into the distance, trying to make out any signs of life. She saw flickering lights, movements, the occasional spark. She ran towards it. Within minutes, there stood before her the entire population of Night Vale and their doubles all crammed inside a giant electric fence. They were bleeding and broken, and she knew she had to do something.

There was a lock on the fence. There was no way she could get in, not without electrocuting herself. There had to be _something_ she could--

“Hi, there.”

Tamika spun around and came face to face to face to face to face to face with none other than Hiram McDaniels.

His gold head spoke first. “Me and the other heads were just, uh, flyin’ around. We were in the Company Picnic, ya know, just a little bit ago. But, seein’ as I am _literally_ a five-headed dragon, well, we could get out fairly easily.”

Tamika slowly closed her mouth and grinned. “Hiram, can I ask you a favor?” she asked.

“YOU DARE TO ASK A FAVOR OF ME, YOU PUNY FLESH-SACK?” howled his green head. He hissed, and flames sputtered through his teeth.

“Really, it’s for the greater good,” Tamika argued. “And . . . I think it could get you some major props on your campaign.”

All five heads looked at her consideringly. “Keep talkin’,” said the gold head.

She pointed to the fence. “Do you think you can somehow get rid of that?”

Each head grinned. “Okay!” shouted the gold head. “I’m gonna need y’all to stand back.”

“MOVE AWAY, YOU FRAGILE BONE BAGS!” screamed the green head.

The heads each took a deep inhale. The exhale resulted in burning flames--red, orange, blue, and eventually all coming together in one white stream--shooting at the fence. The metal warped, then melted, then dripped and burned away.

“NIGHT VALE!” Tamika shouted as everyone who was once encased inside the fence started to stare at her. “RISE UP AGAINST STREXCORP! FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHTS! FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE! WE WILL NOT BE TAMED BY A SMILING GOD! FIGHT, NIGHT VALE! FIGHT!”

After three seconds, there was no response.

Five seconds after that, there was faint murmuring.

And a whole ten seconds later, that murmuring turned to a roar.

“StrexCorp, you are going down,” Tamika muttered. She screamed, running to her people, as they all began to pick up whatever was around them and use them as weapons against the Strex workers and population of Desert Bluffs. Night Vale didn’t fight on Parade Day. But damn, were they fighting now.

\--

Everyone was fighting. It was hard to see anything or get past anyone. Dana still wasn’t sure how or why she had gotten here. But she was here now, and she was going to help.

She ran past the throngs of Night Vale citizens, fighting off identical versions of themselves. Her mind flashed back to the night of the sandstorm, when she killed her double--or her double killed her, she still wasn’t sure--but she forced those thoughts away. That was over a year ago, and now she had to focus on reclaiming her town.

Someone came running at her, dressed in a yellow suit and without eyes. He had a knife. Again came the memories of the sandstorm. She ducked and picked up the first thing she could find--which turned out to be a pencil--and shoved it into where his eye socket. He collapsed, and she stared in fear at what she had done. And then . . . in awe. She hadn’t been able to control sentient objects before. Was she back? Was she actually back and not just as an apparition or image? If that was the case, she had to find her mother and brother. She had to.

She shoved her way through the crowd with determination, shouting her mother’s and brother’s names. It was impossible to hear anything through the shouting already going on. She shoved through the crowd, and pushed, and yelled louder and louder, but eventually she just came out on the other side with a few scrapes and bruises and her throat sore from yelling. She was alone.

\--

Earl was alone in whatever other world he was in. But because he was in that other desert world and not in Night Vale, he wasn’t relevant to anything that was happening. You don’t care about Earl. Forget about Earl.

\--

No one in Night Vale or Desert Bluffs would ever forget this night. The night Night Vale broke free of the Company Picnic. The night Night Vale rose up against StrexCorp. The night enemy and friend and sister and insufferable step-brother all stood together to take down the tyrannical, capitalistic corporation that held their town hostage for months. No one would forget it.

Except for those who simply weren’t there. Those whose stories would only be known when the humble radio host reported on that news.

If he would survive, anyway.


	13. I Give You the Weather (aka This Accidentally Turned Into Supernatural. Sorry About That.)

(Tonight’s weather is “Take The Bullets Away” by We As Human feat. Lacey Sturm)

Carlos didn’t know if he would survive this. Lauren was on her hands and knees, screaming. Gold leaked from her eyes like tears, and blinding light and lightning and thunder boomed from her mouth. When the entire room was filled with the light, Lauren collapsed on the floor, unmoving. The light took up a form of two round circles and a curved line right below it. The form of a smile.

Carlos shielded his eyes from the light. “What . . . ?” he muttered.

“Thank you, Lauren,” the smile said, crackling lightning with every syllable. “Your body was useful, weak as it was.”

“Who are you?” Cecil asked, curious as ever.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the smile asked.

“Uh . . .”

“It’s you,” Carlos heard Kevin whisper. “It’s . . . _you_.”

“Yes, Kevin. It is me. The Smiling God.”

“Oh, yep. Yeah, that, that makes sense,” Cecil muttered.

“You’re real,” Carlos said in awe. He had experienced wonderful things in Night Vale--scientifically fascinating things. Nothing, though, as fascinating as this deity who could possess bodies. It was incredible.

“Yes, Carlos the Scientist,” the Smiling God said to him. “I am real. And I embody light and joy and happiness. And I can improve your life.” His voice was beautiful. Not nearly as enchanting and intoxicating as Cecil’s, but enticing nonetheless.

Carlos was wanting to ask how, but he couldn’t allow himself to believe what the Smiling God was saying.

“Improve our lives?” Cecil echoed. “By destroying all that we love and care for?”

“I ask you to be careful, Cecil,” the Smiling God said. “You don’t want to say something you’ll . . . regret. Yes, I can improve your lives. Much like my presence improved the lives of everyone in Desert Bluffs.”

“You . . . didn’t improve our lives,” Kevin whispered. “You . . . made them _worse_.”

“I beg to differ. Before you were simply homicidal sociopaths with no conscience or awareness of what you were doing. Now? Well, you’re still that. But you’re happy and productive. Your sociopathy is put to good use. You should be proud.”

“I  . . . I can’t be proud, I--”

“Carlos the Scientist,” boomed the Smiling God. “Lauren meant what she said. If you come to the Company Picnic, you can do science forever. Imagine all the things you can study and all the scientific discoveries you can make. Why, you can even study _me_ , if you wish. I take it _I_ am a great scientific discovery, no?”

“You . . . you _are_ ,” Carlos found himself saying. “And . . . well . . . scienceing forever can’t be . . . _too_ bad. . . .”

“Carlos!” Cecil cried. “NO!”

Carlos’ body cringed and convulsed as heat and light shot through his veins and his bones.

\--

Every nerve, every bone in Kevin’s body vibrated as he saw the Smiling God force himself into Carlos’ body. Carlos crumpled to the ground until all the light was inside of him. Finally, he slowly rose and turned to Kevin, his eyes black as onyx.

“Darling . . . ,” Kevin muttered. He might have mistaken Carlos for his boyfriend earlier, but now he knew that _this_ man standing before him now was indeed his boyfriend. He ran to him and grabbed his shoulders. “Fight it, honey. Fight it just like you did--”

“No. I will not fight it. The Smiling God is . . . _everything_. _StrexCorp_ is . . . everything. Kevin, you were a fool. You took out your chip, but we can get you a new one. Come back home, with me, and we will be happy and productive together. Forever.”

“I . . . I . . .” Kevin couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t go back to Desert Bluffs, and he wouldn’t go back to StrexCorp. But . . . his love needed him.

“Carlos!” Cecil was crying in the background. “Fight it!”

“I want to. But I . . . I _can’t_ ,” Kevin said. “I _can’t_ join you. I’m sorry, you know I love you, but I _can’t_.”

His smile dripped away. His face hardened. “Fine.” He shoved Kevin to the ground. “If you won’t come willingly, I’m going to have to use force.”

On the floor, Kevin tried not to cry. “You’re not everything I thought you were . . . ,” he said.

“Oh, how you wound me.”

Kevin slowly rose and looked him in the eye. “I apologize.” He spread out his arms and took him into a hug.  
\--

Kevin’s arms were around Carlos’ throat, and he was strangling him to death. _No,_ Cecil had to remind himself. _Not Carlos. Not . . . anymore._

“Kevin!” he yelled. “Let go of him!”

Kevin ignored him and only squeezed harder. Carlos’ face turned red, then blue, but his body did not slacken. “Kevin, release me,” said Carlos. No. Not. Carlos. Said the Smiling God _through_ Carlos. “You are only making things worse for yourself.”

“I want . . . ,” Kevin whispered. “I just want . . .” He sighed, shook his head, and let go.

“Thank you, Kevin,” said the Smiling God. “Kevin, we are going to need to go back to Desert Bluffs. See if we can get you fixed. Cecil.” He faced him. “You are coming, too.”

“No,” Cecil said. “I won’t go. I will not go without my . . . without my Carlos.”

The Smiling God laughed--only it was Carlos’ laugh that Cecil heard. “‘Your Carlos’, as you so quaintly call him, is still here. Would you . . . like to speak?”

“Yes. Please, I just want Carlos--”

“Cecil.” This time it wasn’t the Smiling God--it was Carlos. “Cecil,” he said again. Just that. Just . . . Cecil.

“Carlos,” Cecil said. “Carlos, please, don’t let the Smiling God take over.”

“I wish it were that easy. But he has complete and utter control over my body. Trust me, Cecil, if I could, I would . . . do much more than I am right now.”

“Can I ever . . . can I ever have you back? All of you, not partial you with mostly Smiling God.”

“I wish I knew. Cecil, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Carlos, please, you’re scaring me. Are you going to be okay?”

“Probably. Not a high probably. Maybe around ten percent. I can’t make a promise that I’m going to be okay. Most likely . . . I will not.”

Cecil’s breath caught in his throat. No. Please, gods, no. Not his imperfect scientist. Not the only love and light in his life. Not the man who made him feel alive. Not Carlos. He couldn’t find words. What even were words? Mere sounds that he constructed with his mouth. They had no meaning. None of them had enough meaning. There weren’t enough words in any language that would explain everything he was feeling right now. Gods, he just wanted his Carlos back.

“Cecil,” Carlos said. “I . . . I don’t have a lot of time. Please. Kiss me. Just once, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to touch you again.”

Tears running down his face, Cecil nodded numbly and ran to his boyfriend.

\--

Carlos’ boyfriend’s lips were immediately upon his. The Smiling God was too powerful, and Carlos couldn’t move his arms or any other part of himself. All he could do was simply stand there as Cecil wrapped his arms around his neck. Cecil’s lips tasted wet and salty. Or . . . were those Carlos’ own lips? It was hard to tell.

He felt the warmth again. The warmth and the light and the electricity. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye. Instead, very softly, he said, “Cecil.”

\--

“Cecil,” said the Smiling God. Kevin watched as Cecil pulled away and looked into the eyes of a man once again possessed. “Now, will you join us?”

“Will I see Carlos again if I do?” Cecil asked. Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. Cecil had always seemed so strong. Was he really considering joining StrexCorp? Joining the Smiling God? Even Kevin had to admit that that sounded horrible.

“Yes,” said the Smiling God. “You will.”

“Then . . . I--”

“You liar,” Kevin found himself saying. “You’re not going to give him Carlos. You’re going to force him to work forever. It’s a slow suicide.”

“Kevin, stay out of this.”

“No. No, I have a right to be in this. Because I am telling you right now that _I_ will never go back to StrexCorp. Or you, Smiling God.”

“Kevin, please--”

“No! You are not everything I thought you were. You are not everything I thought you would be. You . . .” He sighed, at a loss for words. “I don’t think I like you anymore.”

“Is that so?”

Kevin nodded. “It is.”

The Smiling God . . . slowly stopped smiling. His eyes began to glaze over and grey. He slumped. He whispered, “No,” before collapsing to the floor.

“Carlos!” Cecil yelled, rushing to his aid. “Carlos, please. What happened? What did he do--?”

(Yes. What _did_ he do? Hello, author here! This part in the story is where things get tricky, as no one really knew what had happened. But I can’t exactly leave you with no explanation, could I? First off, this is not a _deus ex machina_. Remember that bug Kevin had been picking at a couple chapters ago? And then he’d ripped it out and started hating StrexCorp whilst Lauren had been freaking out? That had been a StrexBug. All Strex workers had had that implanted into them. Basically, it had made sure they had always been happy and productive and hard-working and, of course, worshiping a Smiling God. When Kevin had ripped that out, though, he had slowly resorted back to his old ways ((not completely though, because in order for the StrexBug to work, you needed to be stripped of all emotions besides happiness, so that was why he had seemed kind of monotone)).

(Anyway, before StrexCorp had taken over Desert Bluffs, there had been a few portions of time where the Smiling God had tried to possess Kevin. Kevin had been strong in his rebellion, though, and that had actually _forced_ the Smiling God out ((the Smiling God actually needed a _willing_ vessel in order for his possession to work, which was why he had been able to possess Carlos but Carlos could still fight him off)). However, Kevin’s forcing the Smiling God out had left a little bit of a trace--for lack of a better term--on him. Some of the Smiling God’s power, you would say.

(Flash forward to what had just happened. Kevin had admitted to not liking the Smiling God anymore. Kevin had already proved to be quite strong and powerful yet unaware of his own strength and power ((like when he had attacked Cecil during the sandstorm over a year ago, but he had thought he had merely been “hugging” him)). Kevin’s admittance to not liking the Smiling God anymore was a blow to the Smiling God, both mentally and physically. Now, combine Kevin’s power and strength with that little tiny essence of the Smiling God, and you get this blow resulting in a fatal blow to the Smiling God. Yes, the Smiling God actually died from Kevin not liking him anymore. Stranger things have happened. This _was_ Night Vale, after all.

(I think you get it now. Sorry for the interruption, but given the fact that no one knew what had happened and never would find out, I thought it only fair that you still know. Better than a bunch of angry comments. Anyway. Back to the action.)

Carlos didn’t respond. His head lolled to the side.

Kevin looked at his double. Tears were rushing down Cecil’s face. “Carlos . . . ,” he said, a quiet whisper. “Carlos, please. Wake up. Look at me.”

Still no response from Carlos.

“No. Please, I--” He swallowed. “Please wake up.” He gently shook Carlos’ shoulders. “Carlos . . . wake up. You can’t . . . you can’t die. Not . . . not after everything we’ve been through.”

Seeing his double like this, expressing these incredible emotions . . . it felt wrong. Kevin felt wrong. Cecil was obviously not happy, and that made Kevin feel not happy. He wasn’t happy anyway, but this was a different form of unhappiness. He had experienced it before, he remembered. So long ago . . .

There was coughing. Sparse, hoarse coughing. And then blood. Blood itself wasn’t unusual. In this case, however, it seemed to send another shock of unhappiness through himself and his double. “Carlos!” Cecil said again. Sometimes it seemed as though that was the only thing he was capable of saying: Carlos. He must have found comfort in that word. Happiness. Kevin had to accept that. Cecil could do whatever he wanted if it made him happy.

\--

Cecil was not happy. How could he be? Carlos . . . Carlos’ life . . . Cecil was not sure if his boyfriend was alive or dead. There was breathing, but it was hard to determine if the source was himself or Carlos. Blood. That was new. The blood must have been a result of the Smiling God possessing Carlos’ body--he assumed the Smiling God was gone now, given the fact that Carlos was no longer glowing and his eyes had gone back to their original color and state--but it wasn’t stopping.

Cecil had not cried so hard since he had thought Carlos to be killed by the tiny army nearly a year ago. This revealed his priorities, didn’t it? Carlos. Carlos. His love. His life. His soul. Where would Cecil be without his Carlos? Lost. Alone. He couldn’t be alone. Not now. Not after everything.

“Carlos,” he whispered, his face inches from his boyfriend’s. “I love you.”

A small groan. A barely noticeable twitch. “Scientifically speaking,” Carlos croaked, “I do, too.”


	14. Not Exactly Okay, But Not Bad, Either

Carlos sputtered out, “I do, too,” with a weak smile. He would be alright. He could tell. He grabbed hold of Cecil’s hands, and Cecil pulled him up. He held tight to his boyfriend as he struggled to stay standing.

“Carlos . . . ,” Cecil said in a faint whisper. “You’re alright . . . You’re alright!”

“Scientifically speaking, yes,” Carlos replied with a smile. He released him and said, “What about Night Vale? Are they okay?”

Cecil let out a small gasp. “Oh, yes. I think I ca--” His statement was cut off by a fuzzy radio feedback.

_“Hello? Hello, can anyone hear me?”_ came a female voice from from some broken speakers.

“Tamika,” Cecil breathed. He ran to the radio and picked up a microphone. “Tamika? Tamika Flynn, is that you?”

_“Cecil? Yes, it is. We’ve won. Desert Bluffs has started to retreat. The Company Picnic is in shambles. We’ve won.”_

“That is fantastic news, Tamika. And here’s some even better news--StrexCorp is gone. The Smiling God is gone. Night Vale is safe again. We commend people like you.”

_“I have to help clean up the mess and get everyone home. But thank you, Cecil.”_

“Thank _you_ , Tamika.” Cecil put down the microphone. He turned and looked at Carlos. “We’re safe.”

“We are,” Carlos agreed.

\--

“We are all safe!” Kevin exclaimed. Both Cecil and Carlos stared at him in what he made out to be concern. “Hi.”

“Hi . . . Kevin,” Cecil said slowly and uncertainly. “Listen . . . not that we totally don’t like you at all, but . . . can you go back to Desert Bluffs?”

“Oh.” Kevin frowned. Was there anything left in Desert Bluffs? Did he even want to go back? What would there be left for him there? It was likely all his friends and family were dead. What was there left for him? He let out a simple, “Okay,” before turning from them and leaving the room.

He left the room, left the building, climbing over fallen people and wading through blood. He passed the remains of the Company Picnic, he passed the glow cloud, dropping dead animals by the second, he passed the former border between Night Vale and Desert Bluffs, and found himself once again in the original town of Desert Bluffs. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to encounter what was left of his home, but here he was. And here he would stay.

\--

Cecil couldn’t stay in that building anymore. He and Carlos left and headed straight to the abandoned Night Vale Community Radio Station. There, he knew, he could feel at home. And he’d been needing a feeling of home. Before entering the station, Cecil stood on the sidewalk and stared back up at the station. It had been so long since he’d seen it. He’d missed its towering structure, its impressive nature. Some desert wind blew and ruffled through his hair, bits of sand getting stuck in there. He’d missed his home.

He let Carlos follow him into the studio. He didn’t want Carlos out of his sight--not after all of this. He pulled his headphones over his ears as he sat back in the familiar chair. He clicked the soundboard and microphone on. Maybe no one would be listening to the show, but he needed to regain all the normalcy he could. He relayed the events of today to anyone who might have been listening--everything from being put in the mock radio station, to Tamika Flynn freeing herself and him, to the Smiling God.

“. . . Carlos is with me now,” he was saying, “and he is safe. A little tired, but safe. I am getting word”--he never knew how he got that real-time information, but it was helpful when he did--“that the wreckage left from that vile Company Picnic is finally cleaned up. Night Vale citizens are coming together and returning home, trying to come back to their old lives before that corrupt StrexCorp ever came.

“Never forget this, Night Vale. Never forget that revolution helps. Revolution is important. Together we can stand against a seemingly powerful company. Never underestimate the power of a town coming together against a greater force, Night Vale. We have redeemed ourselves, and anyone who dares to threaten our town will remember this day and fall. We. Are. _Strong_.”

He looked to Carlos, who smiled at him. He smiled back. “For now, Night Vale, let us get back to our old lives. Find your friends, your family, your significant others. Move on, but do not forget. Stay tuned next for stunned silence, followed by a seemingly random series of clicking, and then an exhalation of grief. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”

  
_Today’s proverb: Hit me, baby, one more time. Ow! Did you just hit me? See you in court, asshole._


End file.
